


Portrait

by sherleigh



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Road Trip, Sharing a Bed, Smutty goodness, Star Gazing, an ode to taemin's pretty face, don't ask me how it happened, fanfic tropes aplenty, heavily inspired by taemin's photobook, it just did, pretty thin on plot, with an abundance of feels, yet somehow its 50k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 55,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherleigh/pseuds/sherleigh
Summary: Kibum doesn't want to be in Okinawa. Taemin changes his mind.





	1. Melt Me (My Heart is Frozen)

**Melt Me (My Heart is Frozen)**

 

Anyone else would be ecstatic to be in his place.

 

Kibum, however, is out of his depth. He’s never one to turn down work – in fact he’d requested for this particular assignment – but this might be one time he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

 

He can appreciate how entitled he sounds, even to himself. To be in beautiful Okinawa, all expenses borne by his company, tasked with nothing more than to enjoy himself and write an article about it, is nothing short of blessed. There’s a long list of people who would happily write the same article for free; for nothing more than clout and likes on Insta.

 

The thing is, Kibum is not much of a travel blogger. He loves travelling – who doesn’t – but he’s not the sort to hunt down ‘experiences’ or have a bucket list of things to do in each destination. The only reason Kibum had lobbied for this assignment was because of his ex. Chaejin had been planning to go to Okinawa to visit his grandmother and Kibum was so proud of himself when he scored the job; apart from Chaejin’s travelling expenses, everything else would be covered by the company. It would have been a free holiday for the two of them, a chance to get closer and be happy together.

 

That plan went spectacularly to hell, Kibum muses absently, not dwelling on the thought because the wound is still fresh, still painful. Wasn’t that what people always said? That life never goes to plan? Kibum certainly never planned to spend the tail-end of a wet and miserable autumn in a foreign country moping over Chaejin.

 

It’s hard enough having the shadow of his failed relationship hanging over him, but that’s not the end of his woes. The article itself is a challenge. His task is to write about Okinawa off the beaten track. He’s supposed to find new places to write about, not the usual beaches or nightlife that people usually associate with Okinawa. Kibum had intended to rely on Chaejin or his grandmother’s knowledge of the area initially, so he hadn’t bothered with research. Afterwards, he couldn’t look up anything about Okinawa without flashing back to the night of the break-up, so here he is, fresh off the plane, trying to figure out what to do next.

 

The blogs he’d consulted were of little help. The ones in English and Korean all focused on the basic tourist experience and the ones in Japanese were beyond his skill to decipher.

 

He hasn’t even figured out where to go, let alone how to get there.

 

Wit a sigh, Kibum takes a sip of his coffee, relishing how it burns its way down his throat, and resumes his task of googling local attractions. In order to facilitate his task of finding out-of-the-way attractions, the company had booked him a hotel in Nanjo, away from the main tourist hubs of Naha and Okinawa. Travelling anywhere requires more planning so that he doesn’t blow through his transportation allowance.

 

When Kibum had voiced his concern about departing for Okinawa unprepared, his best friend Sookyung had suggested consulting the locals instead. She’d sounded so cavalier about it too, as if Kibum is so silly not to have thought of it himself.

 

If only she were here now, Kibum wishes viciously. He’d like to offer that perpetually optimistic bastard the choices open to him and see her make something of it.

 

‘Here’ is a Lawson _conbini_ down the road from his hotel. Sharing the small store with him are two female tourists of unidentifiable origin, speaking in a non-English language that Kibum can’t place.

 

The other table is occupied by a pack of young men. They’re speaking in Japanese and dressed semi-formally, and Kibum guesses that they’re locals. Sadly, they’re not the sort of locals Sookyung was talking about; he’s caught a couple of really nasty swear words despite not understanding the content of their conversation and there’s something about their tone of voice and the boisterous way they speak that sets him on edge. These are the sort of men that men like Kibum do well to avoid.

 

It’s such a pity though, Kibum thinks with a sigh. Most of them are pretty good-looking; in particular, the one with hair dyed platinum blonde. It’s not a shade that flatters most people, but he’s one of the rare ones.

 

As if he’s sensed Kibum thinking about him, the guy glances up from his breakfast of instant ramen and looks straight into his eyes. Kibum drops his gaze back to his phone immediately, embarrassed to have been caught looking.

 

Back to work.

 

The girl at the front desk of the hotel had hesitantly mentioned a seafood market nearby when he’d asked about attractions within walking distance. It’s supposed to be a good place to get fresh sashimi, octopus and kelp patties – which can be said of any market on this damn island – so he might as well get off his arse and check it out instead of mindlessly scrolling through stale travel blogs.

 

He just has to figure out a route to the market. The roads here are pretty confusing, but he’s been looking at the map of the area for the past half hour and he’s pretty sure he can find it with minimal fuss.

 

Satisfied, Kibum finishes the remainder of his coffee and disposes of the cup in the bin by the entrance, returning the cashier’s greeting as he steps outside-

 

-and nearly runs into someone’s back. Specifically, a certain someone with platinum blonde hair. Kibum had been so engrossed in his map that he hadn’t noticed the group of men leaving.

 

Kibum catches himself just before he crashes into the man, stumbling a little, and the guy turns around. He’s got a lit cigarette between his fingers and he quirks an eyebrow – a nearly non-existent eyebrow – as he exhales through his nose.

 

“Sorry,” Kibum offers in English, even though the guy probably has no idea what he’s apologising for, and steps around him.

 

With that embarrassing encounter out of the way, Kibum is free to walk away without giving any further thought to this random convenience store, the bunch of people he’d briefly shared it with and the admittedly handsome stranger he nearly ran into. And he almost does so.

 

Almost.

 

Something makes him stop in his tracks and prompts him to turn back, to ask the still-smoking stranger “Sorry, may I ask a question?” in what little Japanese he knows.

 

The stranger hesitates for a moment, so long that Kibum nearly has time to regret asking, before nodding yes. He takes one last exhale and stubs the cigarette out underfoot, giving Kibum time to formulate his question.

 

“Do you know the way to the Ojima Imaiyu Market?”

 

“Oh, yes,” the man says, this time with no hesitation at all.

 

“Is it…” Kibum wants to ask whether it is worth visiting, but his Japanese is too basic for that. “Is it good?” he finally asks, adding “for tourists?” when the man’s face scrunches up in confusion.

 

The response Kibum gets isn’t one he’s expecting.

 

“Are you Korean?” the stranger asks, in pitch perfect Korean, and Kibum is baffled why he didn’t recognise his own countryman earlier; it’s so obvious now, from the shape of his face to his fashion to the way he carries himself.

 

“Yeah!” Kibum is relieved and overjoyed at the same time. Finally, here’s someone he can easily communicate with. “Wow, it’s so nice to meet a fellow Korean. Uhm, have you been to the Ojima market? I was just wondering whether it’s worth visiting.”

 

“Do you want to buy seafood?”

 

“Not really.” Kibum sighs, wondering whether it would be okay to burden this stranger with his own incompetence. The man seems to be in a pretty accommodating mood so far, so Kibum decides to push his luck just a little further. “It’s just that I have to write an article on like, the hidden treasures of Okinawa… you know, stuff that’s not really known to tourists yet, and I’m at a complete loss. I was supposed to have a guide, but he bailed on me at the last minute.”

 

“Ahhh, I see,” the guy replies, rubbing his chin in contemplation. He doesn’t seem to mind Kibum’s imposition on his time. “Hmmm… it is worth visiting one fish market in Okinawa, but they’re all pretty much the same. If you ask me, tourists aren’t usually aware that Okinawa has a lot of ancient ruins. The most popular ones are in Nanjo so you don’t even have to travel far.”

 

Visiting ancient castle ruins sounds exactly like a touristy thing to do, but who is Kibum to argue? He’s the genius who’s asking a Korean person – who might be on holiday just like him – for information about a Japanese island.

 

“That sounds great,” he replies politely, mentally moving these ideas to the lower rung on his short, short ladder of places to visit.

 

But the guy shows no indication of having heard Kibum. “But if you’re willing to travel a little, you should definitely visit the Nakagusuku ruins in Nakagami-gun. The castle is the most intact of all the ancient ruins and there’s barely any tourists. They’re definitely out of the way, but they’re also definitely worth your time.”

 

“How do I get there?” the question slips out of Kibum’s mouth before his brain can filter it. “Sorry, that’s the last thing I’ll trouble you with. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

 

The man waves Kibum’s apology off. “The bus is the only way to get to Kitanagusuku, but you’ll have to take a cab between the station and the ruins…” he trails off, as if lost in thought, and Kibum thinks he’s done; he’s about to thank the man and head off when he says “You know what, I’m travelling in that direction anyway, so you can… I can show you the way.”

 

Is it his lucky day today, Kibum wonders. It would make his life infinitely easier to be guided by someone who seems to know the area. Still, Kibum puts up a half-hearted denial for the sake of propriety. “Oh no, that’s really too much to ask for. You don’t need to go out of your way-”

 

Again, the man waves off his insincere apologies. “I’ve got some errands to run in the area, so I can show you which bus to take and stuff, but you’ll have to get to the ruins by yourself.”

 

“That’s more than enough,” Kibum replies, sincere this time. He sticks his hand out. “I’m Kim Kibum, by the way. And thank you.”

 

The man looks at his hand as if handshakes are a strange ritual he’s not aware of before slowly – almost reluctantly – giving it a brief shake with his own. “Lee Taemin.”

 

*

 

 

“This is the bus station,” Taemin explains as they approach the station building. The walk is a little longer than Kibum had expected; having had only coffee as sustenance, he’s fallen behind Taemin by a couple of paces. It’s a little embarrassing, but on the plus side, it gives him a good view of the man’s beautifully black coat – and the freedom to stare without it being rude – to appreciate how much love and precision went into weaving the material and tailoring it so that it hangs just right. Would it be weird if Kibum asked him where the bought the coat?

 

Just then, a gust of wind sweeps through, practically blowing Kibum’s light jacket off his shoulders. That’s another aspect of the island that Kibum failed to research; the weather. Chaejin had mentioned in passing that the seasons were temperate compared to the mainland, so Kibum had packed light.

 

A strange look passes over Taemin’s face, confusing Kibum. What could he possibly be unhappy about?

 

Kibum picks up his pace, to catch up, and tugs his jacket back into place. His hand brushes against the sequins of his inner t-shirt and, with a sinking heart, Kibum can guess what Taemin saw that disconcerted him. His inner t-shirt is pink with a giant sequined rainbow heart in the middle. Rainbow imagery might fly over the head of his parents’ generation, but Taemin looks younger than Kibum and the only thing he’ll associate the rainbow with is the queer community.

 

Not that Kibum is ashamed of who he is – he wouldn’t have the t-shirt otherwise. It’s just a pity that after they part ways, Kibum’s memory of his kindness will always be tainted by this revelation of homophobia.

 

Kibum catches up to Taemin inside the station. “Do you have a bus pass?” he asks, showing Kibum his own. Kibum does, having purchased it at the airport. The bus is already there, so they rush to catch it. Taemin plops himself into a window seat towards the back of the bus and Kibum takes the seat next to him.

 

“This bus goes directly to Kitanagusuku, so you can catch it on the way back as well. It’s about… forty minutes?”

 

“Okinawa is a lot bigger than I expected,” Kibum remarks. He’d expected an island approximately the size of Singapore, where his company has its headquarters, only to have to travel for three-quarters of an hour to get to his hotel.

 

That draws a smile out of Taemin. “Yeah, a lot of my friends say the same thing.”

 

“So… do you like live here? Do you work here or are you just a very knowledgeable tourist?”

 

Taemin’s mood flips. His mouth curves downwards, his eyebrows furrow and he twitches uncomfortably before answering. “I live and work here… but I’m on a break right now.”

 

Kibum doesn’t know what to make of Taemin’s reticence, so he asks another random question in order to prevent an awkward silence from setting in again. “Ah, I see. What is it you do?”

 

If anything, that innocent question only darkens Taemin’s already dark mood. “Nothing much,” he replies coldly, looking out of the window. “Does it matter?”

 

“No, of course not,” Kibum responds on autopilot, ears burning with shame. He can’t imagine how he’s managed to offend Taemin with two simple questions, but he does know a dismissal when he hears one. On second thought, Kibum thinks, it’s not a mystery at all. His initial assessment of Taemin was accurate, no matter how much he’s been trying to pretend otherwise, and it’s only Taemin’s impeccable manners that’s leading him to help Kibum despite his dislike of everything Kibum represents.

 

Why did he have to wear that stupid t-shirt today?

 

Why is the world so cruel and intolerant?

 

Taking his cue from Taemin, Kibum abandons any attempt at communication and pulls out his phone instead. Instead of stewing in righteous anger and embarrassment, he might as well use this time to do some research on the ruins.

 

But first, social media. Kibum is a confessed social media addict; there’s hardly anyone in his field of work who isn’t. Tiffany, an old friend who’s recently ventured into modelling, has posted tons of photos on Insta of her latest endorsement so Kibum leaves a couple of positive comments under some of them. Namhyun, a video blogger that Key came to know at an event his company once held, has posted a few photos of his new puppy. It’s cute and Kibum feels the corners of his mouth lift. Perhaps he should get a dog. He’s definitely going to visit Namhyun as soon as possible to play with that pup.

 

Just as he’s about to start his research, Kibum’s shoulder is tapped. By Taemin. Confused, and more than just a little annoyed, Kibum looks up from his phone and raises a questioning eyebrow at the man. He’s done being friendly.

 

Funnily enough, Taemin no longer looks hostile. He gestures out of the window and leans back for Kibum to see. “We’re passing by Nakagusuku National Park,” he explains. “Most people just use the playground for their kids, but you can actually hike up the hill from the park. It’s a bit late today, but you can still try catching the sunset from the top of the hill. The view is amazing.”

 

Thanks to his adventurous parents, Kibum is no stranger to hiking. People are always surprised at his dexterity and stamina, usually having stereotyped him as a typical urbanite whose idea of exercise is walking to the nearest Holly’s.

 

“Are there trails?”

 

“Ah… no.” Taemin looks a little sheepish. “You kind of just pick your way up? I’ve done it before, it’s not too hard.”

 

“Alright,” Kibum replies, mentally crossing the hike off his very short list of things to write about. He doesn’t fancy getting lost in some foreign country without anyone to notice his absence.

 

“There’s also a shrine nearby. You’ll have to take a cab there from the bus station, but it’s closer than the ruins.”

 

“Does it allow visitors?” Kibum asks.

 

Taemin thinks for a while before shrugging. “I guess? I went once during some festival, it was definitely open to visitors then. Oh! Oh, I can’t believe I forgot, there’s a haunted hotel nearby!”

 

“Haunted hotel?”

 

Taemin looks excited. “Well, it’s not confirmed to be haunted. It’s an abandoned hotel. It’s really interesting, I’ve been there a few times with my friends. Security won’t let you stay after dark, but you can definitely take a lot of cool photos.”

 

What a nutter, Kibum thinks.

 

Just then, the conducts announces the station.

 

“Ah, that’s our stop.” Taemin points to the opposite window, speaking quickly. “The stop for the return bus is just across the road. It runs pretty late, so you don’t have to worry.”

 

He looks happier now, as if he’s relieved to finally be rid of Kibum. The thought stings – is he so awful that complete strangers dislike him after barely half an hour in his presence – but Kibum brushes it aside; he’s gotten what he needs from Taemin, despite the latter’s homophobia. He’s the winner of this encounter. It doesn’t matter what Taemin thinks.

 

“Thanks for helping,” Kibum says.

 

“It’s fine,” Taemin replies. “Good luck with your article.”

 

And then he’s gone, his long black coat billowing in his wake.

 

*

 

The ‘shrine’ that Taemin had mentioned is actually a sprawling temple complex specialising in car blessings and amulets. It’s old, well-maintained and definitely tourist-friendly. The monks Kibum sees have kind smiles on their faces and playfully pose for him. It’s a pity that he doesn’t know enough Japanese to ask them about the history of the temple.

 

He spends much more time there than he originally intended to. Just photographing the architecture is an effortful undertaking; it takes a few tries and practice for Kibum to get satisfactory shots of the beautiful red and gold hall and the stone sculptures around it. Because of the season, the trees match the sculptures in their red and gold foliage. The view is as impressive in person as it is picture perfect. A few leaves drift down – the temple is clean, so someone must be sweeping it regularly – and Kibum manages to get a shot of one mid-drift silhouetted against the temple’s arch.

 

There are things he doesn’t photograph too. A couple comes to get their car blessed.

 

He spends ages snapping shot after shot of the massive green-roofed pagoda silhouetted against the sky, bright blue now, and wonders how it might have been used in the past. He feels small and insignificant standing in front of it, in a good way. In a world where people are driven to inflate their egos, it is refreshing to feel humility instead.

 

There is something peaceful and calming about the temple. Kibum isn’t much of a believer in crystals and energies and whatnot, but he’ll admit that this place has good vibes. He can understand why people would come here to pray and meditate.

 

By far, his favourite place in the temple complex is the garden. It’s huge, with a neat flower lawn near the entrance that leads to a bamboo and evergreen forest further on. Big fat cabbage roses, in flame red and orange hues, demand admiration that Kibum is only too happy to provide. Osmanthus in bright orange and plum blossoms in bold pink hold him captive in the garden; the sight of a healthy, blooming flower is one of life’s simple joys, but what a joy it is. Perhaps this assignment is not without its merits, because Kibum would not have been able to see these beautiful flowers otherwise.

 

There is a lake in the forest, fringed by willow trees. Is it man-made or natural, Kibum wonders. Some koi swim leisurely, unafraid of him even when he leans closer to get a better look at them. They break the surface, and Kibum realises that they’re waiting for food.

 

He takes a moment to sit by the side of the path encircling the lake. The air is fragrant and heavy, as if he’s in an actual forest. It reminds him of old tales, of goddesses emerging from bamboo and dragon guardians.

 

It also reminds him of Chaejin. One of the things that had attracted him to Chaejin was their shared love of nature. Their early dates were made up of many weekends spent at the Botanical Gardens in Seoul. Kibum was always content to just enjoy the plants and flowers at the park, but Chaejin would always buy a little potted plant of whatever happened to catch his eye on a particular visit. That little difference was a sign of strife to come; of Kibum being content to just live life and Chaejin always chasing some elusive goal.

 

Perhaps he was just a series of goals to Chaejin too. Get Kibum on a date, get a kiss from Kibum, fuck Kibum, move in with Kibum and then what? Chaejin must have run out of things to do with him.

 

Shaking off thoughts of Chaejin, Kibum goes through his photos and starts making notes about the temple’s features that he wants to put in his article.

 

The afternoon sun is high in the sky when he’s done. Even in the shade of the trees, Kibum feels warm, but he doesn’t feel comfortable taking his jacket off. Instead, he walks back to the entrance, hoping that a cab will be waiting to take him somewhere he can buy some lunch.

 

What he finds is a lot better. There are a few stalls outside the temple, selling food and drinks and knick-knacks. Kibum buys himself a refreshing iced lemonade and a simple bento box, and sits on one of the stone tables to eat his first meal of the day.

 

Despite Taemin’s enthusiastic recommendation, Kibum figures that he’ll give the hike and haunted hotel a miss. Instead, he’ll go straight for the castle ruins and head back to his hotel; if there’s still daylight left, he’ll go to the beach.

 

A family makes its way past him as he’s eating and planning. Three generations all together, parents and two teenaged children and one grandmother. The parents walk in front, chatting enthusiastically to each other. One teenager walks in the middle, morose. The second teenager and his grandmother bring up the rear, sharing a quiet conversation.

 

The sight of the boy and his grandmother brings up more memories of Chaejin. Chaejin was always proud of his Japanese heritage, saying that his fisherwoman grandmother had nothing to do with the brutal Japanese Occupation of Korea. How an Okinawan woman from a tiny fishing village had come to marry a Korean lecturer was a story Kibum had been eager to discover. Chaejin had promised that he’d get to hear the story straight from the woman herself; yet another promise that he would never keep.

 

The memory sours Kibum’s mood – and his appetite. Feeling guilty about waste, he dumps the remainder of his lunch in a bin and leaves.

 

*

 

Like the temple, the ruins of Nakagusuku castle are wide and sprawling. It’s a bit of a hike too, up the hill that it’s located on.

 

Kibum relishes the twingeing of his hamstrings as he walks up. He can use this as an excuse to skip the gym this week. Kibum’s never been a fan of exercise for the sake exercise alone, but it’s hard to indulge in hobbies like hiking and water-skiing on a writer’s salary.

 

There are no guides and very few signboards around the ruins. It preserves the ghostly, lonely atmosphere of the place, but Kibum can also see why it might repel tourists. Every country has its own pile of ancient rocks; it’s not the structures themselves that are of interest – unless one is a student of architecture – but the history that comes attached to those rocks. Who built them, who died protecting them, why they were abandoned. Bereft of the weight of the stories of the people whose lives revolved around them, the rocks lose their meaning.

 

Apart from a small group of Japanese people – probably mainlanders, since they seem to be tourists too – the site is empty. A few birds sit in the trees and chirp undisturbed, and Kibum realises with a start that it’s been years since he’s heard birdsong. He’ll never be anything other than a city boy, but he can remember birds being a part of life when he was a child. His grandmother would give them leftover rice from their meals. Where have they all gone?

 

As he contemplates the dearth of nature in city life, Kibum wanders around the ruins and takes a few shots, trying to find good angles.

 

The remains of a watchtower are the central point of the ruins. Kibum walks around the perfectly preserved circular structure of the base a few times, first on the outside then on the inside, pausing to take snapshots of sunlight streaming through crudely cut windows.

 

He’s lining up one such shot when a bird lands in the frame. Kibum tuts and looks up; he doesn’t want to have to move and lose the angle, but the bird is preening itself and shows no inclination to leave.

 

“Shoo!”

 

The bird turns to him. If birds could have expressions, then this one looks completely unimpressed with Kibum’s pathetic half-hearted yell.

 

“SHOO!” Kibum calls out again, louder this time. The bird spreads its wings and shrieks at him - and for a moment he thinks he’s about to be attacked – before taking off.

 

It’s a seagull. That shriek gave it away; few other birds are as shrill and annoying. What’s a seagull doing so far inland, Kibum wonders, before realising that he’s probably not as far from the sea as he’s presumed.

 

Kibum finds a window in the direction that the gull came from and sure enough, he can make out a thin strip of beach and lapping waves in the distance. Perhaps he won’t have to travel all the way back to his hotel in Nanjo to take a walk on the beach after all.

 

Since there’s no one to stop him, Kibum decides to just take a hike down the hill and walk in the direction of the beach. If he comes up against any obstacles he can’t cross, like a barbed wire fence, he can just double back and return the way he came.

 

The path takes Kibum by some sea-facing cliffs where long grass grows almost as tall as him. It’s obvious that the area doesn’t get much human traffic, and Kibum should be worried about how he’ll find his way back when the sun goes down, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to be arsed. He gets a good shot of the sun reflected on the sea, framed with grass. It’s one of the best shots he’s taken and he decides then that it will definitely go into the article.

 

The beach itself isn’t quite what Okinawa is famous for. The water is clean, but not crystal blue like the beaches in Naha and Moon Beach. The sand is coarse and deeply brown, littered with ocean detritus like driftwood and shattered shells. A few fishing boats dot the horizon, either coming home after a day’s work or heading out to catch the night critters like squid and octopus. There are very few people on the beach. It gives the place an oddly dystopian feel, as if the human world has somehow ceased to exist.

 

Undiluted by human noises, the steady, gentle roar of waves breaking on the shore is amplified. Kibum revels in the sound and in the salty scent of the air. Here, finally, he feels the weight of this assignment wash away. Fuck Chaejin and fuck the stupid article, there’s nothing more he needs to do in this moment than to exist.

 

Kibum contemplates recording the sound of the waves, simple because of how unadulterated it is, but dismisses the idea quickly. There’s something magical about being on a beach that can never be replicated by a CD of ocean sounds and scented candles.

 

In the distance, Kibum spots another human. A man. He’s walking in the water and, Kibum notices with horror, he hasn’t bothered to roll up his jeans. They’re soaking wet halfway up his calf, visible every time he lifts his legs to take another step forward. It’s really none of his business what this random nutter does with his jeans, Kibum reasons with himself, but he can’t quite shake his bewilderment. What pleasure could the man possibly be gaining from getting his jeans wet that outweighs all of the discomfort and inconvenience he’ll have to face later on?

 

Perhaps he’s having a mental breakdown. Or perhaps he’s just barbaric, with no regard for the care of his clothes.

 

It’s a pity that his first impression of the man is such a negative one, Kibum thinks as he drags his eyes upwards, because he has a great arse. Not much of one, but pretty and perky nonetheless.

 

And a great figure too. Slim waist, broad shoulders, nice long neck and-

 

-platinum blonde hair.

 

It can’t be him. What are the chances, Kibum asks himself instinctively, expecting the answer to be ‘slim to none’.

 

Unfortunately, that is not the answer he gets. How many people have the exact same hair style and colour though, comes the answer from his own traitorous brain. The guy is also vaguely same-ish in terms of height and build as well, if he remembers correctly. Wasn’t Taemin also wearing light blue jeans, even if his beautiful black coat seems to have disappeared somewhere? And didn’t he mention that he had an errand to run in the area?

 

What are the odds, Kibum asks himself again.

 

Positive now that this wetter-of-jeans is Taemin, Kibum finds himself caught in a new dilemma. Should he say hello or just quietly walk past, which is surely to happen since Taemin is ambling along at a much slower pace than him?

 

Out of nowhere, his grandmother’s advice flashes through his memory. Gratitude should always be expressed, she used to say, no matter how small the deed. It teaches the recipient humility and rewards the kindness of the giver.

 

Thanks to Taemin, strange though he was, Kibum has got 3 things to write about and many beautiful photos to put in his article. And assuming he can’t find a single thing to do by himself tomorrow, he can always return here to write about the park and the haunted hotel. By any measure, Kibum owes Taemin a genuine thank-you at the very least.

 

A short jog closes the already narrow gap between them, and Kibum pulls abreast with the person walking in the water.

 

It is Taemin. He looks up when Kibum falls into step with him, and Kibum can see the exact moment Taemin recognises him, because he looks so taken aback.

 

“Hi!” he says cheerfully. “I was walking along the beach and I spotted you-”

 

“Are you following me?” Taemin’s voice is loud; anger and disgust radiate off him in waves. “Are you stalking me, you freak?”

 

Kibum’s face burns with embarrassment. Thankfully, there’s no one else around to bear witness to him being treated like a chewing gum stuck to the sole of a shoe.

 

Being called a freak, though, that infuriates him.

 

Kibum can be loud when he wants to be, and right now he wants Taemin to feel just half the embarrassment he’s inflicted on him - wants Taemin to stop yelling at him – so he cuts off the tirade with a yell of his own.

 

“I’m not fucking stalking you!”

 

To his relief, it works. Taemin stops talking, though he looks no less angry than before.

 

“First of all, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are that anyone would want to stalk you. I was up there-” Kibum points up in the vague direction of the ruins “-and then I saw this beach and came down. And then I recognised your dumb blonde head because this world is too fucking small and I thought I’d say thank you for giving me some good tips. Here-” Kibum pulls his phone out, opens up his gallery and holds the phone up for Taemin to see as he scrolls through the hundreds of photos he’s taken today “-you can see for yourself that I wasn’t following you.”

 

“Oh,” is all Taemin has to say. His voice is quiet and he’s no longer radiating anger.

 

But Kibum is still angry. The word ‘freak’ still rings in his ears, reminiscent of all the times in his past when he’d been tormented by people who called him the same thing. “I’m not blind not to notice that you’ve been acting like you sat on a nest of ants around me ever since you saw my t-shirt, but news flash, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m attracted to every man that crosses my path or that I have so little control that I’d stalk random homophobic strangers!”

 

Taemin starts to say something, but Kibum has no interest in hearing him justify his prejudice. “So thanks again for the tips. Hopefully our paths never cross again.”

 

Having scored the last word in that argument, Kibum turns around and starts walking back the way he came.

 

“Wait!”

 

Kibum keeps walking.

 

He hears the dull thuds of feet hitting sand and then Taemin runs in front of him, holding his hands up placatorily. “Wait, wait! I’m sorry I called you a stalker. And I’m not a homophobe-”

 

Kibum snorts in disbelief. Taemin doubles down on his statement “Really, I’m not homophobic. I didn’t even notice your t-shirt until you mentioned it.”

 

Does he think Kibum was born yesterday? “Okay, fine,” Kibum replies, disgruntled and wanting to be rid of Taemin. “Apology accepted. Goodbye.”

 

“Let me buy you a drink, to make it up.”

 

That catches Kibum’s attention. Just a moment ago he thought Kibum was stalking him and now he wants to buy him a drink? His bipolarity is making Kibum’s head spin. But Kibum can’t walk away, because underneath the utter ridiculousness of the situation, Taemin had sounded sincere.

 

“Look, you don’t have to-”

 

“I was wrong, and I’m really sorry. I’ll feel horrible if I don’t make it up somehow. And I’ll take you to is a really cool beer garden, you can put that in your article too.”

 

It’s the perfect bait.

 

*

 

“I didn’t realise there was a craft beer movement in Okinawa of all places” Kibum comments, thoroughly enjoying his glass of Swan Lake Beer’s Amber Swan ale. It beats even Brewdog’s Lost Lager, which is the best pale ale Kibum’s tried so far. “Or that it was of such high quality.”

 

“It’s a place with a lost of hidden charms,” Taemin replies. He’s sipping on a more mainstream white Hoegaarden, which is not to Kibum’s liking but which is pretty tasteful nonetheless.

 

“So, do you regularly accuse people of being stalkers so that you can bring them to your friend’s pub or am I just lucky?”

 

That gets a shy smile from Taemin. “Oh my god, it’s so embarrassing. I’m glad my friends weren’t there or I’ll never hear the end of it.” His expression quickly becomes sober, though. “I guess I was being paranoid, huh?”

 

Kibum shrugs. It’s not like he knows anything about Taemin or his life to be able to confirm or deny that statement.

 

“It’s my job,” Taemin explains, even though Kibum hadn’t asked. “You thought I was anxious because of your t-shirt, but I really didn’t notice it at all. I got worried when you started asking me questions about where I live and what I do for work.”

 

Kibum doesn’t quite believe Taemin just yet, but his explanation is plausible. It also sounds ridiculous, like something out a spy movie, but Taemin says it with such a straight face that Kibum can’t do anything except reply in the same serious tone. “So, do you work for the government or something?”

 

All of a sudden, Taemin’s laughing again. “Oh no, not at all. I’m a dancer.”

 

“Oh.” Kibum tries connecting the random dots of Taemin’s story. If he’s a dancer, why would he be stalked? Unless he’s a stripper being stalked by some creepy client – but he doesn’t have that aura to him – or he’s downplaying his job, which involves more than just dancing. “Are you a pop star?”

 

“No, I’m just a dancer. I work with a theatre and sometimes I work with idol groups, but not all the time.”

Kibum nods, understanding. He’s outgrown his idol phase, so he only vaguely knows about fan culture these days. He remembers how there used to be news about sasaeng fans breaking into idol dorms and leaving messages in period blood, but he didn’t know that they’d started stalking back-up dancers too. “So the fans stalk you too?”

 

Taemin nods, grim. “It’s just this one group that I’ve been working with lately. I’ve never had any problem with fans before, they usually just ignore us, but for some reason this group’s attracted a really toxic bunch of fans. They broke into their tour bus, collected used tissue and posted it on social media, like, can you believe that?”

 

Kibum shudders. He can’t bear touching his own snotty tissues sometimes, let alone someone else’s.

 

“They gave the members teddy bears with spycams inside, which luckily set off a metal detector when the members went through security.”

 

“That’s pretty crazy.”

 

“Right? And they’ve started following us dancers too.” Taemin shakes his head. “I don’t know what they’re hoping to get from us. They broke into my colleague’s car and stole some CDs and merch that the band had signed for her. That was at the last concert. I guess I’ve been a little keyed-up since then.”

 

“And then I came along, asking about your work and popping up everywhere.” Kibum finally sees how this series of random events would have triggered an already cautious Taemin, and he can’t blame Taemin for reacting the way he did.

 

“Exactly!” Taemin becomes more animated then. “I had my suspicions from the moment I realised you were Korean, because they’re a Korean band and the crazy fans are Koreans… which I shouldn’t have, but you can see why, right?”

 

Kibum nods. “Well, let me swear hand on heart that I have absolutely no interest in idols or idol groups. I think the last idol I liked was BoA, and that was ages-”

 

“I’ve danced with her.”

 

“Oh my god, what was she like?” Okay, so Kibum’s not entirely over trash pop, but who cam blame him? “Wait, no, don’t tell me. I spent all of my pocket money on her albums when I was a kid, let me enjoy those memories. It would be a pity to discover that she’s evil or something.”

 

Taemin finds his reaction amusing, judging from the way he laughs into his beer. “Don’t worry, she’s really nice. Most idols are. But honestly, I’d rather work with the stuck up ones who do rehearsals competently than the friendly ones who think rehearsals are a fashion show or fanmeet.”

 

“So which type was she?”

 

“The best type,” Taemin replies. “Friendly _and_ competent. It was just for one song. The idol who was supposed to dance with her injured himself, so her company hired me to fill in.”

 

“Anyway, as I was saying, I have no interest in idols-”

 

“Yeah, I know that now. Is my apology beer good enough to buy your forgiveness?”

 

It’s more than enough. The beer garden overlooks a section of the coast where a jetty is located, where a combination of fishing boats and yachts are docked, and it’s precisely the sort of hipster joint that his magazine’s clientele loves. Thanks to Taemin, Kibum has 4 places to write about. His article is more than halfway complete after only one day. By all counts, the score between them is settled.

 

Still, Kibum hands his phone to Taemin and says “Take a good shot and I’ll consider us even.”

 

He poses for his amateur photographer, who gamely snaps away from a variety f angles before handing the phone back.

 

“Good?”

 

His honest opinion spills from his mouth before his filter can kick in “Don’t quit your dancing gig just yet” and Kibum is mortified.

 

But Taemin just laughs, heartily with his head thrown back.

 

“Looks like you guys are having a good time.” Taemin’s friend Hayato, the owner and bartender of this lovely little joint, joins them at the table. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

 

Taemin looks to Kibum for answer. Kibum is a firm believer in the saying that it’s possible to have one beer but not two, and since he’s not looking to get drunk tonight he has to cut himself off now.

 

Only, Kibum realises, he’s reluctant to do so. Not because the pub has other craft beers that he wants to try, not because drinking cool beer by the seaside is the perfect way to end a long day, but because he’s really enjoying Taemin’s company.

 

“I’m good, thanks,” he replies, slightly unsettled by the realisation. He hands his empty bottle to Hayato and says “That was the best beer I’ve had in ages. If I’m ever in Okinawa again, I’ll be sure to drop by.”

 

“Please, feel free. Any friend of Taemin’s is a friend of ours.”

 

“Are you heading back to your hotel?” Taemin asks as they walk out of the pub. He pulls a folded bucket hat out of one of his pockets and jams it onto his head.

 

Kibum hadn’t planned on that specifically, but it is the most logical thing to do. “Yeah.”

 

“Walk you to the bus station? I’m going in a different direction, but it’s the only station around here.”

 

“Sure.”

 

The walk is a short one, thanks to Taemin’s knowledge of shortcuts through residential streets. Kibum catches a glimpse of the life of Okinawans; of neatly tended gardens and cats sunning in windows and little shoes lined up neatly by the entrance. The sun is setting and it’s getting colder, windier. Kibum feels like he can breathe easier and, just as the thought crosses his mind, he comes to an understanding as to why he feels that way.

 

The shadow cast by Chaejin has disappeared. It had followed him all the way to Okinawa, through the temple and up the hill, but it has been driven away by Taemin’s charismatic presence.

 

Selfishly, despite everything Taemin has already done for him, Kibum wants just a little bit more. He glances at Taemin, hoping to gauge his mood, only to catch him looking back. This time, it is Taemin who instantly drops his gaze.

 

“So… can I ask you one last work-related question?”

 

“Sure!” Taemin’s answer is overly enthusiastic, as if he’s glad for the diversion. “You can ask as many as you want, I really don’t mind.”

 

“Can you recommend a place for dinner? Something that’s-”

 

“-not famous amongst tourists?”

 

“Exactly,” Kibum replies, unable and unwilling to control the smile spreading across his face.

 

Taemin stops right in his tracks. “Actually, there’s a seafood hotpot place just down the road from here. It’s really good and reasonably priced. You have to try the mussel hotpot, it’s amazing. I dream of it for days after I’ve had it.” He points somewhere down the street opposite the bus stop. “Just follow the street until you see a shop with a giant cardboard octopus in the window.”

 

Kibum nods as if he’s paying attention, using the opportunity to calm his nerves that suddenly feel like wild horses waiting to run free. “Is it good enough to get you to accompany me for dinner? I’ll pay. If you don’t have other plans, of course.”

 

The heartbeats – one, two, three – that it takes Taemin to reply feel like an eternity.

 

“Yeah,” Taemin says. It’s a quiet answer, but one bare of pretense. There’s an undercurrent of curiosity in his eyes that Kibum is sure is reflected in his own.

 

*

 

The shop isn’t very impressive at first glance, but Kibum’s enough of a foodie to know not to judge based on appearances alone. He follows Taemin’s lead to sit at a plastic table, so small that their knees bump a few times. Despite the sparse comforts, the place is full of locals.

 

“The small hotpot is enough for one person,” Taemin explains “so we should get a large one.”

 

“Hmmm,” Kibum replies, not quite agreeing. Glancing around at neighbouring tables, he can see that the hotpot is certainly the star of the menu. However, there are other dishes that catch his eye too; in particular, at a table shared by three women dressed in the unmistakeable uniform of the Postal Service, there is a platter of what looks like grilled mushrooms. At a table occupied by a solitary elderly man, there is a plate of pickled seaweed. “We can order the small one and try some other stuff too? It’ll look better for the article that way.”

 

Taemin shrugs. “Fine by me. What do you want?”

 

He places the order with the lady running the shop after they agree on what to order. Kibum racks his brain for a topic of conversation, but there is barely any time for an awkward silence to set in – Taemin is not stand-offish, as Kibum first assumed, but introverted – before the lady comes back with their hotpot.

 

It is a glorious thing, this bubbling, steaming stew, earthy brown and rich with the earthy scent of miso and garlic and the saltwater scent of konbu and chock full of fat, sweet mussels still in their shell.

 

The silence that falls on the table after that is not awkward but respectful; there is little point to conversation when this sort of food deserves to be worshipped in silence, each mouthful a blessing from the universe itself.

 

He’s hungry, Kibum realises, as he eats without pause. He’s done a lot of walking on just coffee and a half-finished lunch, so it comes as no surprise, but the sensation of hunger is nonetheless strangely unfamiliar. And then, he understands.

 

He hasn’t been hungry in a long time.

 

When they’ve polished off most of the stew, the eryngii mushrooms arrive; thickly sliced, glistening with butter and crisped brown on the edges. Taemin’s chopsticks hover impatiently over the plate as Kibum tries to take an Instagram-worthy shot in an environment that is not built for it.

 

He looks up to see Taemin dabbing sweat off his forehead as he eats. Kibum’s sweating too, but he at least he doesn’t have a hat on. “Aren’t you going to take your hat off?”

 

“I don’t like having dyed hair,” Taemin replies. “It makes me stand out. You said you found me because of my hair, right?”

 

“Is that why you’ve been wearing that hat? Yah, you can take it off. This place is full of old people, not idol fans. Anyway, I recognised you because of your hair, but it wasn’t that that made me notice you in the first place. And I couldn’t… can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Why on earth were you walking in the water without rolling your jeans up?”

 

Taemin looks surprised, as if Kibum’s asked him a completely unreasonable question – which he hasn’t – and he just shrugs as he removes his hat. Kibum notes with dismay that his lovely platinum hair is ruffled now. “Why not?”

 

“Because…” Kibum splutters, unable to put into words why casually getting one’s clothes wet isn’t normal human behaviour. “Because your jeans will be wet and sandy? And that’s uncomfortable and totally preventable with the simple, low-effort preventative measure of rolling up your jeans!”

 

judging by the wide, amused smile on Taemin’s face, he’s not insulted by Kibum’s interrogation at all. He pats the lower part of his jeans and wipes his hand on the table. “Well, it is sandy, but it’s not wet anymore. I guess I just didn’t notice?”

 

How can someone not notice being wet, Kibum wonders incredulously. “Also, the saltwater will ruin your jeans if you keep doing that.”

 

“How?”

 

“It’ll get bleached. You’ll end up with two tones-”

 

“Fashion!”

 

“Only if you live in the late 90s.” Kibum remembers something, putting an end to his banter. “I guess you really didn’t notice my t-shirt, huh?”

 

Taemin becomes serious too. “You still don’t believe me?”

 

This time, it is Kibum who shrugs in reply. “Then why did you frown at me when the wind blew my jacket open?”

 

“When did I frown-” Taemin starts, before remembering. “Oh, was it before we got to the bus station? I just thought you were badly dressed for the season. Like, we’re warm now, but as soon as we leave you’re going to freeze.”

 

“Don’t remind me.” Kibum knows he’s in for a rough time getting home. “For some reason I assumed Okinawa’s weather was almost tropical. It doesn’t make sense at all when you think about it, but I guess I didn’t stop to think about it.”

 

“That’s fine,” Taemin says quickly. “I hate research too. I usually leave it to my friends when we go on holiday.” He laughs a little. “The only problem is that they don’t like research too. That’s how we ended up in Hakone for the hot springs and we all found it too hot in like, ten minutes. The ryokan owners thought we were crazy for booking rooms with them when we spent all of our time travelling to other places.”

 

It’s a funny story, but Kibum feels disappointed with himself all the same. “It’s my job, though.” His superiors had always praised him for his professionalism and that’s something that Kibum has internalised over the years. He’s really let himself down this time. “It’s just…”

 

Taemin leans in, looking curious. Kibum guesses that his expression is not a good one, or maybe Taemin just likes gossip. Whatever it is, he doesn’t intend to rant about Chaejin and allow the other man to ruin even more of his life than he already has. Yet, there is a part of him that wants to talk about Chaejin, about his sorrow at the end of their relationship and all of the feelings he’s been hiding from his friends so as not to worry them.

 

He opens his mouth to speak, but when he sees Taemin, the words won’t come. Taemin’s just a stranger, a man he met in a conbini who’s been kind enough – probably because of their shared nationality – to help him navigate around Okinawa. He’s not going to ask him to play therapist on top of everything else. “It’s nothing, really.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Taemin replies. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

 

“It’s nothing spectacular, it’s just that I was supposed to make this trip with my ex.”

 

“Ah.” It’s barely a word, but somehow, it’s full of sympathy. Kibum looks up and sees Taemin looking straight at him. “It’s no big loss. You found your way without him, so you should be really proud of yourself. You don’t need him.”

 

Him. The way Taemin says it, so casually, without the slightest flinch or judgment, lifts a weight off Kibum’s heart that had dropped there ever since the wind exposed him. Taemin had said that he’s not homophobic and now, Kibum believes him.

 

“I don’t need him, but… we were together for four years. Lived together. We were this close to getting a dog.” Kibum picks at the last mushroom on the plate, which he had been saving for himself but which has now lost its appeal, and decides on a whim to take it and place it in Taemin’s bowl. “Here, finish this off.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Taemin eats it and Kibum looks away, suddenly tired. Chaejin is like an energy vampire, even when there’s an ocean between them.

 

“Hey, do you want to get a drink and trash talk your ex?”

 

Taken aback, Kibum turns to Taemin, who looks absolutely sincere. Isn’t it late? Doesn’t he have anything else to do?

 

At Kibum’s long silence, Taemin shrugs and says “I mean, that’s what my friends always do in this sort of situation. I’ll buy? We can get sake and talk about what a dickhead your ex must be.”

 

“Let me guess, you know a place that I can put in my article?”

 

Taemin laughs heartily and Kibum finds himself laughing along. “Unfortunately, it’s just the conbini around the corner.”

 

*

 

“So…”

 

“So?” Kibum echoes, teasing Taemin. It’s cute how he’s determined to get Kibum to open up despite clearly having zero clue how to actually go about it.

 

“Bad break-up?”

 

“Is there such a thing as a good break-up?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “I guess… where you’re happy it’s over?”

 

Kibum drinks, avoiding the question. Is Chaejin happy now, without him? Is he somewhere in Seoul, sitting under the same sky as Kibum, having a drink and thinking about the trainwreck that he dodged?

 

“He said I’m cold,” Kibum finally answers. “That he feels, felt like he’s the only one trying to make the relationship work. It’s not like things were picture perfect before it ended, but…” he sighs, finding himself at a loss for words.

 

“You don’t seem cold to me,” Taemin replies. Kibum can’t tell if he’s being truthful or if he’s saying what he thinks Kibum wants to hear. “If he expects more, then he must have been one of those annoyingly clingy people. It’s better this way.”

 

When Kibum doesn’t reply, Taemin continues. “Like, I always tell my partners that they have to be okay with me being absent a lot because that’s the nature of touring.”

 

“And it works?”

 

“It’s usually a deal-breaker,” comes the honest reply. “Most people think they’re okay with an absent boyfriend, but they don’t really understand the meaning of absence. When I’m touring, I can’t spend an hour or so face-timing them or reply to texts regularly. It’s not that I don’t have the time, but I need my own space first.”

 

Kibum nods along, understanding. He hasn’t missed the way Taemin said ‘partners’ instead of ‘girlfriends’ but he’s not going to put much thought into that right now. It’s pretty common in his generation to use gender-neutral references, so he’s not going to waste time deciphering what Taemin had meant by ‘partner’, especially since it makes no difference to him one way or the other. “It must be pretty hard on you, then.”

 

“I’m more focused on work right now… anyway, we’re here to trash talk your ex. So, apart from being a total barnacle who can’t tell that people need space, what else is wrong with him?”

 

Kibum laughs a little and drinks some more, allowing the alcohol to warm him from the inside out. It is a cold night and he’s so jealous of Taemin’s warm, beautifully tailored coat. “Hmmm, let’s see. He chews loudly.”

 

“So gross,” Taemin replies.

 

“He wants to keep a huge dog in a flat, because he thinks little dogs are for girls.”

 

“Toxic masculinity.” Taemin shakes his head theatrically. “I bet he has a small dick.”

 

Kibum chokes on his alcohol and his laughter. “Oh my god, that’s so out of line!”

 

“I don’t hear you denying it. May your next boyfriend be better endowed. Let’s toast to it.” Taemin raises his bottle and Kibum clumsily taps it with his own. The alcohol is definitely taking effect, because he’s tipsy enough to find all of this funny.

 

“I wasn’t his type anyway. Physically, I mean. He’s into manly men and well, look at this,” Kibum says, gesturing at himself.

 

“He’s an idiot,” Taemin says immediately, devoid of any humour. “He’d have to be blind not to see how handsome, how… how sexy you are. He should consider himself lucky that someone like you would give a slug like him any attention at all.”

 

“You haven’t even seen him.”

 

“I don’t need to. I don’t need to compare you to anyone to say that you’re sexy.”

 

Kibum’s drunk, but not so drunk that he’d overlook the suggestion in that statement. He looks up and finds himself trapped in Taemin’s suddenly dark, lustful gaze. At any other time, he’d find a way to turn him down, because he’s just coming out of a relationship and he’s not looking for anything, not even a one-night stand, and he has a job to get done.

 

But right now, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

 


	2. Cosmic Love (Let Me Show You A Thousand Stars)

**Cosmic Love (Let Me Show You A Thousand Stars)**

“You’re really, really pretty, d’you know?”

 

Kibum’s on his second bottle of cheap sake and he’s at that stage where his tongue and brain are both doing their own thing, making him prone to blurting out the random thoughts fluttering through his head like moon-blind moths.

 

Taemin snorts. He’s totally red in the face; it’s the worst case of the Asian flush that Kibum has seen in ages. “Of course I know. People haven’t stopped telling me since I was like… five?”

 

It’s clear that Taemin’s not impressed, but Kibum’s not quite willing to let the idea go just yet. Fashion is one of his interests and Taemin has such an interesting look; he can just picture trying out various styles of hair and make-up on him. He suspects that Taemin would be one of those guys who’d look great with longer hair. “Have you tried growing your hair out-”

 

“Yes.” Taemin answers even before he finishes his question. “And it didn’t last long, because I got tired of ahjussis getting heart attacks whenever I went into the men’s bathroom.”

 

What a pity, Kibum thinks, for someone so pretty – and open to being pretty – to have that interest squashed by this restrictive world.

 

He shifts in his seat a little, trying to find some comfort in the unforgiving plastic convenience store chair, and the movement causes his leg to bump against Taemin’s. Kibum’s got an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Taemin doesn’t move away; instead, he shifts too, stretching his leg so that the entire length of their shins are pressed together. The owner of said leg is studiously reading the label on his bottle and completely avoiding Kibum’s eye, feigning nonchalance like a pro.

 

And usually Kibum’s not the sort to play silly games like these, but for some reason, he’s enjoying the thrill of the chase with Taemin.

 

So he shifts closer too, deliberately hooking his ankle around Taemin’s and keeping his face straight. His heart beats quicker. What if he’s mistaken? But, even as the thought crosses his mind, he dismisses it. He’s been around the block, he can almost taste how interested Taemin is.

 

There’s definitely a darker shade to Taemin’s cheeks now that can’t be explained away by alcohol consumption.

 

“You’re really pretty too,” Taemin says after a while. “A mix of handsome and pretty.”

 

“It’s just genetics,” Kibum answers honestly. “And lots of skincare, I guess.” He tips his bottle to take a drink, but nothing comes out. A shake reveals that it’s empty.

 

“Another one?” Taemin asks, quickly draining the remainder of his bottle too.

 

As tempting as that is, a third bottle will definitely push him over the edge from pleasantly tipsy to full-blown drunk. And it’s not like Kibum hasn’t been reckless before, but he needs to be able to find his way back to his middle-of-nowhere hotel. “Nah, I’m good. It’s not that I don’t want to-”

 

“You’re staying near the Lawson that we met in this morning, right?” Taemin interrupts his explanation with a question “Maybe we can go back there and continue? And… maybe even back to your hotel, if you’d like?”

 

“That’s an excellent plan.” Kibum’s sure now that Taemin is after the same thing he is and that he hasn’t misread Taemin’s intentions despite being out of the scene for years now. He stands up, staggering a little. “Let’s go.”

 

Since he gets to the door first, Kibum holds it open for Taemin and follows him out into the night.

 

The sky is clear and the half-moon is a gleaming presence low in the sky. Kibum exhales, watching his breathe fog in front of him, and tugs his meagre coat tighter around himself. The alcohol is keeping him artificially heated for now, but he can still feel the chill. It’ll be much worse when the alcohol wears off, so hopefully they’ll be indoors by then. Regardless, Kibum feels playful; it’s the first time he’s had such fun on a night out since his break-up and the night’s nowhere near over.

 

They walk in companiable silence to the bus station, ambling along quiet streets. The bustle of the day has worn off; the last salarymen are home now, children are in bed and businesses are closing for the day. The world feels like it belongs to him.

 

There is a bus waiting at the bus stop. Kibum’s just spotted it when it starts moving. “Should we run and catch it?”

 

“Nah, it’s not the last bus. Another one will come soon,” Taemin replies easily.

 

He sits on the bench and waits for Kibum to join him. Kibum wants to join him too, but there’s a little niggle he needs to satisfy first. Squinting, he reads the schedule that’s printed so small as if it was printed for ants. “Hey, what time is it?”

 

“Uhhh, about 12.50am.”

 

“Oh.” The bus they just missed was the 12.45am, then. That makes the next one-

 

-the 1.45am.

 

That’s bearable, Kibum tells his alarmed self. They’ll make small talk and the minutes will just breeze by. He shuffles over to the bench and takes a seat next to Taemin, so shamelessly close that their shoulders brush together with every breath. He’s colder than he was just moments before. Jealous isn’t an adequate descriptor of the way he feels when he sees Taemin wrapped up warmly inside his beautiful coat; he wants to peel him open and crawl inside as if Taemin’s a dead tauntaun and he’s Luke Skywalker.

 

“Sooo, are you more of a beer or soju person?”

 

“Soju.”

 

“Same. Sake or soju?”

 

“That’s…” Kibum’s teeth clack together. A light wind blows, chilling him even further. Goosebumps ripple on his skin in its wake, followed by a full-bodied shiver. “That’s hardly fair. I’m Korean, of course I’m going to say soju. Sometimes half my blood is soju.”

 

That gets another full-bellied laugh out of Taemin. As far as sounds go, it’s an oddly pleasing one; Kibum finds himself grinning stupidly, and that’s how he knows he’s not sober, because there’s really no reason to be so giddy about something so random and insignificant.

 

“Ahhh… okay, soju or makgeolli?”

 

Life is so unfair, Kibum thinks. This is a topic that he could practically write a dissertation on and he’s dying to share his opinions with Taemin, but he’s so cold that his brain has frozen. “Is there somewhere we can wait indoors? It’s ages before the next bus.”

 

Something flashes across Taemin’s face, so fleeting that Kibum wonders whether he imagined it, before he answers. “There is a place nearby,” Taemin says slowly “but it’s more of a walk than the restaurant.”

 

“It’s fine,” Kibum responds immediately, already somewhat embarrassed by the fact that he’s inconveniencing Taemin again because of his poor planning. There’s little need to come off as some sort of weakling that can’t walk in addition to that. “Lead the way.”

 

“Let’s go then.” Taemin stands up and starts walking, heading down the road in the opposite direction from which they came. “It’s on you this time, though.”

 

“Of course.” He would have offered to pay even without Taemin’s prompting, it’s the least he can do. “Where are we going anyway?”

 

“A motel. There’s one that’s closer, but this one’s more decent.”

 

Taemin continues talking, but Kibum only catches the odd word here and there because the frantic buzzing of his thoughts drown out everything else. When he asked to be taken indoors, he’d meant a restaurant or a bar or even the same convenience store that they just walked out of, not this.

 

But this – sex –is the natural conclusion of the night. Grown men don’t play footsie for the fun of it, nor do they suggest taking things back to either one’s residence to have a cup of tea. And when Taemin had suggested going back to his hotel, it was something Kibum had wanted, had welcomed with excitement. It’s happening a little sooner than he planned, that’s all.

 

So why have things changed? Why is he uneasy all of a sudden?

 

As if urging him on – or at the very least, stopping him from turning around and running away, the wind picks up and cuts through his meagre clothes and flesh, until his bones are painfully cold – and Kibum jogs to catch up with Taemin. He’s not even thinking when he links their arms together, driven purely by instinct, in a bid to leech off some of Taemin’s warmth.

 

If Taemin’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “It’s not far.”

 

“Great.” It’ll be a terrible tragedy if he freezes into a block of ice before getting to kiss those pretty lips.

 

“Ah, there it is.” Taemin points at a nondescript block of buildings. If one particular building is meant to stand out, Kibum isn’t seeing it. Rather, the more he sees, the less appealing the whole place becomes. It’s not as well-maintained as the parts of the town they’d walked through earlier; there is graffiti on the sides of the buildings, the paintwork is old and peeling and the pavement in front of the buildings are cluttered with skips and disassembled cardboard boxes. There’s a Coco! in the row, but even its ubiquitous pink sign seems tarnished and distastefully gaudy, like a strip club. It hardly fits the description of ‘decent’ that Taemin had mentioned earlier.

 

Still, beggars can’t be choosers.

 

The motel turns out to be the building at the far end of the block. The door opens to reveal a clean, if sparse, lobby and reception. It’s empty save for the lone female receptionist behind a high desk; she’s reading a book and looks up when they walk in, but doesn’t greet them.

 

Taemin hangs back by the entrance, reminding Kibum of his earlier promise to pick up the tab on this. This is it, then. As much as he’ll tell anyone who’s willing to listen that he isn’t romantic, Kibum’s not the sort of person who fucks around in dingy love motels. But here he is, standing in one anyway after an entire day of unexpected events and pushed limits.

 

It’ll be the first time in four years that he’ll be sleeping with someone who isn’t Chaejin.

 

The receptionist puts her book down when he goes up to the desk and bows lightly. “Welcome, sir.”

 

“Hi. How much for a room?” He keeps his eyes down as he asks the question. There’s no way she doesn’t know what he wants the room for; it’s bad enough for straight couples, but as a gay man, the request has an added dimension of awkwardness to it. If he doesn’t look at her, he can’t see the judgment or disgust in her eyes.

 

“3,000 yen per hour,” she replies, polite and neutral-sounding.

 

“For one night?”

 

“12,000 yen.”

 

The price is somewhat steep, but it’s not like Kibum has an abundance of alternatives. He pays with his personal credit card, hoping that he isn’t breaking some Korean law by using a love motel.

 

“Thank you, sir.” The receptionist hands him his card and receipt, together with a heart-shaped room key. “Your room is on the 3rd floor. The lifts are located on your left. Check out is at 10am. If you are late, you will incur additional charges by the hour.”

 

With that parting remark, she returns to her book.

 

*

 

The elevator opens to reveal a scene out of a gritty movie: a short and narrow corridor, seedy-looking despite the halogen lights humming overhead, with four doors on either side. There is no sign that any of the other rooms are occupied or that there are humans on this floor apart from them. It’s the sort of atmosphere that makes a person’s hair stand on end. Any child would readily admit to being afraid, but being an adult, Kibum just swallows his disquiet and follows Taemin down the corridor to their room.

 

A sign on the door request them to remove their shoes and place them on the supplied rack before entering the room. As they comply, Kibum remembers something very important that’s completely slipped his mind until now. “Hey, wait.”

 

Taemin’s got the key in the door already. “Huh?”

 

“Uh, we should probably get condoms.” That’s another thing he’ll have to get used to, having to use protection.

 

“Oh, is this your first time at this sort of place?” Taemin asks as he opens the door. “They provide everything, like condoms, lube, kinky stuff, toiletries…”

 

“Really?” You learn something new everyday, Kibum remarks to himself as he peers into the room, hoping that it is at least a shade better than the corridor outside.

 

It is. And when he sees it, he understands why the corridor is so narrow and unwelcoming. The rooms have been designed to be as large as possible, which is a reasonable decision for a place that charges by the hour. The walls and floor are covered in dark red carpeting, in another example of clever designing. People associate the colour with romance but it’s also dark enough to cover most stains. The lights in the ceiling and by the bed are a hazy orange, which again sets a romantic mood and prevents guests from getting too close a look at the cleanliness of their surroundings. Kibum is impressed; the motel looks nondescript from the outside, but a lot of thought has been put into its design.

 

“This is awesome,” he says, more to himself than Taemin.

 

“Yeah, that’s why I brought you here instead of the other place that was closer by,” Taemin replies. He points at a large bowl on the low table at the foot of the bed, filled with what looks like colourful candy at first glance. “Condoms. And lube too, I think. You can take some back, as a souvenir.”

 

As much as he’s glad for the essentials, Kibum’s too awed by the design of the room to tear his attention away from it. There isn’t a desk and vanity like there would be in any normal hotel room, but there is a loveseat and above it, a poster showing the many, many ways it can be used. The bed is huge and the metal headboard, which has bars that he supposes handcuffs can easily be attached to, looks solid.

 

Everything in the room has been designed to optimise sexual relations between its occupants.

 

Speaking of which, sex is what should be happening instead of him geeking out over design and aesthetics. He must seem so rude to Taemin. He turns to find him with an apology ready to be spoken, but Taemin doesn’t look bothered at all; he’s taken his coat off and is hanging it on the coat rack behind the door.

 

His outfit, that well-washed white t-shirt and unremarkable jeans, was probably chosen for comfort, but right now, Kibum can’t think of anything sexier he could be dressed in. The fall of the t-shirt really brings out the contrast between his shoulders and waist, and the beautiful way his body tapers from its widest to narrowest point.

 

Taemin turns, grinning when he catches Kibum looking. “Like what you see?”

 

“Yeah,” Kibum replies, before adding “the positioning of the coat rack is genius, because they’ve saved themselves the cost and trouble of putting cupboards in the room and-”

 

“You’re the worst,” Taemin complains, playful, as he crosses the room to come to Kibum. “I’ve never had to compete with a literal room for attention before.”

 

“If it helps, you’re winning.”

 

“Mmmmm…” And then Taemin’s right there, in front of him, so close that Kibum can feel the heat of his body and smell the salty scent of the sand that must still be clinging to the bottoms of his jeans. “Can I kiss you now?”

 

Soundlessly answering, Kibum closes the barely-there gap between them and kisses Taemin first. It feels like benediction; the tension in his shoulders eases and so do his misgivings, as if Taemin’s drawing all of the negativity out of him through his lips.

 

It was intended to be a brief kiss, a response essentially, but now that he’s tasted the pillowy softness of Taemin’s lips, Kibum can’t tear himself away, and it appears that Taemin can’t either. The taste of sake lingers between them, though he can’t tell who it’s from, and the barest hint of mint and smoke. It’s such a pleasing thing, the way their lips meet, chasing and catching, and when they finally, inevitably break for air, Kibum sighs with satisfaction even though they’ve barely begun.

 

“That’s a good sigh, right?” Taemin’s tone is as playful as ever, but Kibum can read his nervousness in the way he averts his eyes as he asks, in the way he keeps his hands to himself, in the way he gives Kibum space to escape if he wants to.

 

“Maybe? I think I need one more to be sure.” This time, Kibum cups Taemin’s face in his hands as he kisses him and oh, it’s everything he never realised he wanted, from the way Taemin’s jaw fits in the curve of his palm to the way his fingertips just barely meet the softness of Taemin’s hair. This time, it’s Taemin who sighs with pleasure and this time, he’s the one to eliminate any distance between them by wrapping his arms around Kibum’s waist and pressing their bodies together.

 

It’s uncomfortably warm, a sensation Kibum had almost forgotten; for the first time all day, his jacket feels like too much. He breaks the kiss and moves Taemin’s arms to shrug it off, uncaring that it falls to the floor in a crumpled heap.

 

“Oh,” Taemin says, an undecipherable sound.

 

“Oh?”

 

“You’ve got muscles.” With the same awe and care as the worshippers at the temple kneeling before deities, Taemin runs his hands over Kibum’s arms; over the solidity of the biceps he’s developed not from the gym, but from doing all of the household chores on his own since moving out of the home he once shared with Chaejin.

 

Something about Taemin’s comment triggers a sense of playfulness in Kibum. In a swift motion, he sweeps Taemin off his feet and hoists him triumphantly. Just as he’d guessed, Taemin’s pretty light and it isn’t too difficult to carry him this way for a little while.

 

That little move delights Taemin more than Kibum could have imagined. He breaks into a wide, toothy smile and loudly exclaims “Wow, you’re so strong!”

 

Kibum walks a few steps over to the bed to lower him down onto it – he’s feeling the strain of now - but as he does so, he unconsciously digs his fingers into Taemin’s waist, something he becomes aware of only when Taemin yelps and wriggles out of his grasp like a slippery fish. Not quite understanding what he’s done at first and not wanting to drop Taemin, Kibum’s reaction is to hold on tighter, which just makes Taemin flail more and pull them both down onto the bed in a graceless heap.

 

It is Taemin’s giggling that gives away what’s happened, just before Kibum can ask whether he’s okay.

 

“Oh, are you ticklish?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and finds Taemin’s waist with his fingers again, where the barest of touches has Taemin gasping and squirming again.

 

Retaliation comes swiftly and brutally. What Kibum thinks is Taemin throwing his hands up in surrender is actually Taemin aiming straight for his underarms, and then it’s Kibum’s turn to shriek and flail. Taemin tickles him mercilessly and he’s merciless in return and soon they’re both crying and breathless.

 

“Truce, truce!” Kibum puts his hands up as a sign of good faith and Taemin stops his attack, though he doesn’t stop smiling. Kibum’s mouth hurts from how much he’s laughed too. He can’t even remember the last time he was tickled in earnest like this. “Wow…”

 

“Oh…” that beautiful smile drops off Taemin’s face. “I think I tore your top.”

 

“What?” Kibum looks down, and sees that the left strap of his pink tank top has come away from the white singlet he wears it together with, creating the impression that it’s a single item of clothing that’s been torn. “Ah, this? It’s two pieces, see?” He pulls both off and separates them, showing Taemin.

 

The unmasked desire in Taemin’s eyes makes it clear that he is looking, but not at what Kibum is trying to show him. Being on the receiving end of such focused attention makes Kibum feel self-conscious again, but he can’t cover it up without making his discomfort obvious.

 

Instead, he reverts to snark to cover up his insecurity and mimics Taemin’s earlier question. “Like what you see?”

 

“Yeah.” Taemin responds with such ease, as if he’s not at all ashamed to be displaying his desire so openly. It’s not something Kibum is used to. “It’s not often that I get to be with someone who looks as good as I do.”

 

Kibum can’t help the incredulous snort that escapes him; he’s never met anyone quite so vain before. “Your turn,” he says, directing Taemin’s attention back to himself.

 

With zero hesitation, Taemin pulls his t-shirt off, flings it away, and flops back onto the bed. In this position, Kibum gets a good view of his body, and really, he can understand why Taemin’s so confident about himself.

 

His collarbones are so prominent and, somehow, so erotic. He’s got what people must mean when they talk about dancers’ bodies; lithe and sinuous, a smooth expanse of skin that just begs to be marked. Kibum can’t contain himself and reaches out to touch in hopes of feeding his surging carnal hunger, starting with the soft skin of Taemin’s throat where his pulse kicks against his fingertips and moving down to those lovely bones.

 

“Come closer,” Taemin says then, a perfectly reasonable request. Kibum complies, closing the distance between them until he’s holding himself up over Taemin, bracketing his hips with his knees. Taemin smiles up at him. “Kiss?”

 

That is also a perfectly reasonable request. Kibum dips down to fulfil it and Taemin eagerly meets him halfway, arching off the bed in a way to capture his lips and pull him down. This position is strenuous for his shoulders and arms, but it feels so good to be kissing Taemin that he can’t bring himself to care. Right now, the most important thing is how plump and biteable Taemin’s lips are, and how good they feel pushing against his own. There’s the barest hint of lip balm on them and then Taemin’s parting his lips to welcome Kibum’s tongue into his mouth; the meeting of their tongues is electric.

 

Taemin’s hands are cool against the heated skin of his waist. Chaejin liked to touch him there too, but where Chaejin’s grip had been firm, Taemin’s is airy, barely there except to trace illegible patterns into his skin. Those hands slowly make their way down to the waistband of his slacks, tugging the fabric away from skin before finally finding their way to the buckle.

 

Where he was taken by surprise earlier, Kibum now feels like they are moving with treacle-like slowness; it’s almost unbearable how Taemin’s hands are so close to where he is so hard without actually touching him. When Taemin finally snaps the buckle free, Kibum breaks their kiss to push his jeans down and kick them off as quickly as he can manage. He catches a glimpse of his plain black boxer-briefs and feels thankful that he decided to wear this relatively new pair today, instead of one of the older, gaudily-patterned novelty underwear that he’d also packed. It wasn’t a conscious decision – he’d just grabbed the first thing within reach – but the end result is still the same; he hasn’t embarrassed himself in front of his new paramour.

 

Turning his attention back to Taemin, Kibum decides that the best way to proceed is for Taemin to lose his jeans too. He runs a hand down the flat plane of Taemin’s stomach, marvelling at the firmness of the muscles underneath his smooth skin, and tugs on the waistband of his jeans, signalling his intent to remove it. Taemin just smiles and lifts his hips off the bed in unmistakeable assent, so Kibum makes quick work of the button and zipper and drags the now loose jeans down. It’s a little clumsy at the end, when Taemin’s legs get trapped and Kibum gets sand on his hands which he guiltily wipes off on the side of the bed, but those little moments of levity do nothing do dampen the mood.

 

Not even the poorly concealed squawk of laughter Kibum lets out at the sight of Taemin’s underwear dampens the mood. Instead, Taemin just lifts an eyebrow. “Guess your ex isn’t as small as I thought.”

 

“No, it’s not that,” Kibum replies immediately, because that’s not it at all; he touches the frayed hem of Taemin’s boxers, half-amused and half-horrified. “How does this even stay up?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “Right now I don’t particularly want it to stay up.”

 

“Fair enough,” Kibum agrees, still somewhat amused. Perhaps he should have worn his novelty underwear after all. What must have been bright pink or red in the past has now faded to the colour of cotton candy – and it looks as flimsy as cotton candy too. Kibum doesn’t doubt that this well-washed thing must be ridiculously comfortable, but it’d be more appropriate for bedwear than daytime use. Taemin moves to pull off his underwear, but Kibum catches his wrists and stills his hands. “No, let me.”

 

Kibum gets as far as slipping his fingers underneath the waistband – or what is left of it – of Taemin’s underwear when something else catches his attention; the completely smooth patch of skin right above it. Taemin doesn’t even have a hint of a treasure trail, and when Kibum rubs his fingers over that patch of skin, he can’t detect the telltale stubble of waxed or shaved skin. His legs, wherever they are pressed against Kibum’s, are also hairless. Lucky bastard, Kibum thinks, to be spared the pain and expense of waxing.

 

“Kibum?”

 

How embarrassing. He has a gorgeous man underneath him, ready and willing to be ravished, and here he is spacing out about something so insignificant and mood-killing as _waxing_.

 

Unaware of the mental kicking Kibum is giving himself, Taemin doesn’t seem fazed by the brief lapse of attention at all. He pushes himself up on his elbows and this, this Kibum can do. He gladly gives Taemin the kiss he’s looking for and slowly pushes him back down so that he can drape his body over him.

 

It’s electric, the meeting of bare skin between them; their legs intertwined, their chests brushing together. Taemin sighs happily when Kibum grinds his hips down, searching for friction, at the same time mimicking the movement by thrusting his tongue into Taemin’s eager mouth.

 

Relief, powerful, washes over Kibum as their hips roll apart and together in an easy rhythm. It’s been so long. His underwear is quickly wet with precum, his cock fattened, at this meagre contact. The primal urge to thrust, to grind harder, into that gratifying contact is overpowering, so Kibum gives into it and breaks their breathless kisses to moan in satisfaction. Taemin tilts his head, searching for Kibum’s lips, but as delicious as their kisses are, Kibum has so much more he wants to do with his mouth.

 

First on his list is the tantalising expanse of Taemin’s long neck. Kibum starts his exploration with a kiss right under his jaw and moves downwards, encouraged by Taemin’s hand on the back of his neck and the way Taemin bares his neck for him. At the meeting place between his neck and chest, in that little hollow at the base of his throat where his pulse jumps, Kibum places a reverent kiss and pauses to ask “Is it okay to leave marks?”

 

Taemin nods enthusiastically, before adding a breathy “yeah” as if his assent wasn’t clear enough.

 

Kibum teases that little patch of skin a little longer, alternatively nipping and kissing it, but ultimately decides against leaving marks which are too visible. Instead, he dips lower, just underneath the curve of Taemin’s prominent collarbone, to suck purposefully on his skin. Taemin tastes good - clean and faintly salty, like sea spray - sounds good - the way he hisses at the pinching sensation – and looks good – with the red-purple bruise blooming like a flower on his shoulder – to such an extent that Kibum wishes he could preserve this moment forever as an unfading memory.

 

But that’s not possible. Kibum contents himself with admiring the flush of Taemin’s skin and his cock twitches in its confines. They’re both hard, hips ceaselessly moving, and Kibum’s come so close to the edge without even realising it.

 

“How d’you wanna do this?” It will be a pity to cum like this, in their undwear after just moments of frottage, but he has no way of knowing what Taemin’s limits are and no intention of crossing boundaries that the other may not be comfortable with.

 

“Anything,” Taemin answers quickly, his voice husky. “As far as you wanna go. More than this.”

 

So he’s versatile, Kibum notes. And while Kibum is itching for a good rough fuck, he needs to work tomorrow and the day after and when he returns to Seoul too, and he has no idea what Taemin is like as a partner.

 

“I’ll top?”

 

“’Kay.”

 

The bowl of condoms and lube is just within reach if Kibum stretches from where they’re lying – having fallen into place at the far end of the bed when they were fooling around earlier – so that’s what he does, grabbing a random handful and hoping that he gets what he needs.

 

What a handful he’s grabbed. “Cherry flavour?”

 

“My ass prefers banana,” Taemin quips and goodness, how does he say such things with a straight face? Kibum breaks into ugly cackling; it’s been such a ridiculous day and he’s so giddy with it – although that might still be the alcohol.

 

“Right, then, ribbed?”

 

“That’s cool.”

 

Placing the chosen condom by their side, Kibum goes through his handful to see whether he’s managed to grab lube; a difficult task, given the bad lighting and his short-sightedness. There’s a simple blue packet with a water droplet emblem that feels squishy, and that must be the lube. That one goes right by the condom and the rest of his handful gets tossed over the side of the bed with a wee twinge of guilt. He’ll pick them up later.

 

Taemin redirects his attention from the discarded condoms to himself, pawing at Kibum’s biceps again – it looks like this is some sort of fetish or turn-on for him – and then his chest, squeezing as if Kibum’s a woman with tits.

 

“Yah!”

 

It’s such a weird sensation, but Taemin repeats it, looking at him with admiration. “Wow, you must work out a lot. Your pecs are no joke.” His hands wander lower, over Kibum’s midriff. “And you’ve got abs too.”

 

Coming from someone who’s got a pretty impressive set of pecs and a gorgeously flat stomach, this level of admiration is odd. Kibum doesn’t get whether these are genuine compliments or Taemin’s attempts at talking dirty.

 

“You must spend a lot of time at the gym.”

 

“It’s really not helping the mood to talk about gym routines,” Kibum grumps, batting Taemin’s hands away from his barely there abs.

 

“Sorry,” Taemin drawls in English, not sounding sorry at all. “What can I do to help the mood?”

 

“Hmmmm…” Kibum hooks a finger in the band of his underwear and tugs playfully. “Lose these?”

 

“Gladly.” With surprising dexterity, Taemin swiftly pulls his underwear off one leg at a time without having to displace Kibum – a manoeuvre that would have torn it had it not been worn thin to the point of ripping anyway – as if showcasing how limber he is. And Kibum can’t lie, it is a bit of a turn on. “Your turn.”

 

With no hesitation at all, Kibum peels his underwear off, perhaps with less grace than Taemin, and drops it off the bed.

 

Bare naked, Taemin lies under him. He’s staring right at Kibum with such intensity that Kibum feels trapped in his eyes, like a butterfly pinned in place by his dark, dilated pupils. Maybe there are people in the world strong enough to break away from that gaze, but Kibum’s not one of them.

 

Rather, it is Taemin who makes the first move. He brings a hand up to Kibum’s face and traces the curve of Kibum’s lower lip with his thumb, pressing just a little harder on the second swipe. Kibum parts his lips, obliging, and lets his eyes fall to Taemin’s lips, to the fullness of them that would make any man wonder what they’d look like wrapped around a cock. He imitates the movement with Taemin’s thumb in his mouth, flattening his tongue under it, and is rewarded with a hitched breath.

 

The thumb withdraws, wet, trails down the curve of his chin and finds its place in the joint where his jaw meets his neck. Taemin’s hand is small, so his index finger just barely touches that same point on the right side of his neck, but it’s enough. With the slightest adjustment, the most minute of movements, Taemin makes him aware of his pulse thudding underneath his fingertips. This is familiar territory, Taemin’s long neck that he tasted earlier and that he will mark in time.

 

Down his hand travels, over his chest to pause right in the middle of Kibum’s chest; there is it again, his heartbeat, and there it is too, the purple blossom he left on Taemin’s chest.

 

Lower, to his midriff. Taemin’s touch is so light. Kibum remembers how he squirmed earlier, how ticklish he is here. More than anything, Kibum wants to span his waist with his hands and measure how slender he is really. Dipping his finger into his navel, Taemin reminds Kibum how he’s ticklish too; he can’t help the shudder that runs through him when it happens.

 

Lower still, through the fine hairs leading downwards. Unlike him, Taemin is bare and smooth here. The joints of his hips are visible under his skin, sharp and just as erotic as his collarbones.

 

There is a small patch of hair over his cock, trimmed neat and close to skin. Someone either gets blown on a regular basis or is a stickler for personal hygiene; given the state of his underwear and the carelessness with which he’s tracked salt and sand all over the place, Kibum is willing to bet any sum of money on the former. With his face and body, he’s probably got groupies of both sexes lining up to blow him. Compared to that, his own thatch of dark hair – trimmed though it is, just not quite as short – seems almost unkempt.

 

Not that Taemin seems to mind, as his hand brushes over it on his way to Kibum’s arousal; rather, it seems not to matter. His hand is small, but his grip is confident as it wraps around the base of Kibum’s achingly hard cock and this time it’s Kibum’s breath that hitches.

 

Finally, Kibum allows himself to move. He takes Taemin’s cock in hand too, cautious and curious in equal measure. Taemin’s longer than him, but also slender. If Kibum’s only allowed one word to describe him, that word would be pretty. The head of his cock is pleasantly pink and he’s so soft and smooth, unmarred by any ridges or bulging veins. Compared to him, Kibum’s cock is shorter and fatter, with a more prominent head and a fat vein running along the underside. Never in a thousand years would he describe it as pretty.

 

Taemin digs his thumb into that vein as he strokes upwards and Kibum almost cums right there. His stamina has really taken a dive after his break-up. “Hey,” he says, hating how breathless he sounds “take it easy, yeah?” and immediately follows up with a kiss to take the sting out of his statement.

 

“Mmmh.” Taemin relinquishes his grip on Kibum’s cock to throw his arms around Kibum’s neck, fingers gripping at Kibum’s shoulders as he pushes his tongue into Kibum’s mouth. Their erections slide together, friction eased by pre-cum, and it takes no effort at all to fall back into their earlier rhythm of grinding.

 

Wanting to get on, Kibum detaches his mouth from Taemin’s and kisses his way down his chest, down to the mark he left earlier right in between Taemin’s very cute little nipples. He turns his attention to the one on the right. All he has to do is take that nipple in his mouth for Taemin to make the lewdest he’s heard so far; when he sucks, Taemin arches his back and grabs the back of his head, as if he’s trying to trap Kibum in place. Kibum smirks as he obliges, teasing the little bud with a nip, soothing it with the flat of his tongue. Men so very rarely have their nipples played with and this isn’t the first time Kibum’s gotten this sort of reaction from a partner.

 

A harsher bite has Taemin gasping; Kibum backs off, leaving his left nipple untouched. He’ll come back to that one later.

 

“I know this seems like a silly question, but I have to ask. You’ve done this before right? Like, with a guy?” Even as he asks, Kibum can feel the mood deflating; it’s such an unromantic, unsexy question, but he doesn’t want to assume Taemin’s level of experience and inadvertently hurt him.

 

Instead of the snarky answer he’s expecting, Taemin gives him a sincere one. “Yes, of course. I’m not a virgin.”

 

“Thanks babe,” Kibum replies, truly grateful. He reaches out for the lube, carefully tears the packet open and squeezes a little bit onto his fingers. It’s a good quality one, slippery but not greasy. Taemin reaches for his abs again so Kibum pushes the packet into his hand. “Here, you keep this.”

 

Without even being asked, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, Taemin spreads his legs wider for him. Not that he has anything to be embarrassed about, with his pretty cock and pretty little pucker just as pretty as every other part of him. Kibum rubs his wet fingers over that secret place, making no attempt to push in but just spreading lube.

 

“I think you didn’t hear me earlier. I’m not a virgin.”

 

And there’s the snark Kibum was expecting. To be fair, he’d be impatient too if he were in Taemin’s position, being treated like he’s made of glass when he’s no stranger to being fucked; still, stretching isn’t something Kibum ever rushes, no matter how experienced his partner is. With a roll of his eyes, Kibum beckons for the lube, squeezing out a larger glob this time.

 

The lube drips down his fingers, smears over Taemin’s thighs and spills on the sheets as Kibum teases Taemin’s rim, lightly pushing and pulling away until he doesn’t meet any resistance, until it seems like Taemin’s body is calling him in. Only then does he push in for real.

 

Heat, clamping around his finger. Kibum’s breath is caught in his chest, goosebumps break his skin; it almost feels like it’s his cock inside, not just a finger.

 

“More,” Taemin demands, rocking back to take in as much of Kibum’s finger as he can. He doesn’t look half as affected as Kibum feels. “I’m fine, I want more.”

 

At Taemin’s urging, Kibum takes another helping of lube and this time, he presses two fingers into Taemin. He’s rewarded with a quiet moan and soft walls clenching around his fingers. There’s a faint flush to Taemin’s skin now, but he still looks so composed; in comparison, Kibum is starting to doubt whether he’ll be able to last for anything more than an embarrassing length of time if he’s ready to cum from just having his fingers inside Taemin. Slowly, Kibum starts stretching him, pushing his fingers in deeper with as much lube as he can and separating them in the smallest increments.

 

There’s a particular spot he’s looking for, a spot that will make this more pleasurable for Taemin. Kibum crooks his fingers, noting the audible hitch of Taemin’s breath, the slight break in his composure, at this new angle and pokes around carefully.

 

“There, right there,” Taemin says suddenly. Kibum feels it then, that slightly spongy texture he’s searching for, and this, he knows how to do. Rubbing in short, repetitive strokes, firm but not rough, he draws signs of satisfaction out of Taemin; a long exhale, eyes falling shut, hips shuddering, a droplet of precum leaking from his cock. Idly, Taemin tugs at it, jacking off with Kibum’s fingers inside him.

 

Kibum takes the packet of lube from Taemin and extracts whatever remains to slick up his fingers, to push three of them inside the space he’s carved open. Taemin hisses a little, but quickly says “Don’t stop” with such an imperious tone of voice that Kibum can’t help being amused. Trusting that Taemin knows his own body and knowing that the slight pain of being stretched can even be pleasurable, Kibum obeys and repeats the same motion, persistently stimulating that spot until Taemin is fucking himself back on his fingers, until Taemin’s cock weeps precum, until Taemin’s breath becomes ragged and unsteady.

 

“Ready?”

 

Enthusiastic nodding, followed by a breathless “yeah”. Kibum reaches for the condom but Taemin grabs it before he can. He rips the packet open and hands the condom to Kibum. “Your fingers are sticky.”

 

“Thanks.” The condom feels so alien and unfamiliar in Kibum’s hand. Years have passed since he last used one; there was never any need to once he and Chaejin entered into a committed relationship. He never thought he’d be in this position, having to relearn how to use a condom. Shaking away thoughts of Chaejin, Kibum pinches the tip of the condom and rolls it down his erection, slicking it up with what little lube is left on his hands. “If… if I do something you don’t like-”

 

“I know,” Taemin replies.

 

Kibum grips his covered erection in one hand and rubs the head over Taemin’s rim, teasing but not really attempting to push in. He expects to get another snarky comment from Taemin, but when he looks at him all he sees is calm patience. Between them, Taemin is clearly younger but right now he’s also the more mature one; he might be frustrated with the glacial pace Kibum’s adopted, but he’s allowing it without the slightest complaint. Kibum feels a sudden surge of affection for this stranger, his stranger, which he doesn’t know how to express.

 

He takes a breath.

 

And pushes in.

 

The air is knocked out of his lungs.

 

However wonderful, fantastic, delightful Taemin had felt around his fingers, that pleasure is magnified a thousand times around his cock; hot and almost unbearably tight, silken walls undulating along his length.

 

Kibum chokes back a moan.

 

Taemin moans aloud, head tipping back. “Oh god yes,” he breathes, as if he too has been deprived of this pleasure for too long.

 

Fully sheathed, Kibum gives Taemin some time to adjust; he needs a moment to adjust too – more than Taemin, if he’s being honest, because the sounds he’s making don’t indicate discomfort of any sort – because he’s so close to blowing his load from just being inside.

 

When the urgency passes, Kibum draws back. It’s such a struggle, to willingly pull out of the warmth that feels like it’s been made just for him, but pull back he does, until only the head of his cock remains inside.

 

Then he pushes in again, slowly, luxuriating in the feeling of that hot, slick channel parting for him and hugging his cock with a firm grip. Nothing compares to this. Taemin sighs happily, legs falling apart so that Kibum can bury himself to the hilt.

 

Taemin is gorgeous; golden skin and gleaming hair spread out on white sheets, eyes hooded and lips parted, flushed with pleasure. He could be the muse for a thousand artists. They’d try to capture him in drawings and sculptures and lyrics, but nothing will ever match the sight that Kibum gets to see.

 

Kibum keeps the pace slow – maddeningly slow – until it stops feeling like he’s going to cum with the next breath, and then he dips down to demand a kiss.

 

Tongues tangle like their bodies as Kibum plunders Taemin’s mouth. Taemin steals his breath; when they break apart, Kibum gasps for oxygen and even Taemin is panting. His hips roll to meet each of Kibum’s thrusts, giving Kibum the lead but guiding their rhythm nonetheless.

 

Taemin grants him only a short respite before pulling him down again, biting down on his lower lip so hard that Kibum instinctively jerks back. His reaction doesn’t deter Taemin; the latter just starts mouthing at his jaw whilst Kibum sucks on his bruised lip. At first it’s wet, gentle kisses, but it seems that Taemin’s in a biting mood today because soon enough there’s teeth and love bites involved. So it goes, down his jaw to his neck.

 

Kibum allows it all, baring his neck to give Taemin access to all of the skin he wants to bruise for as long as he wants it. It doesn’t last very long, since Taemin can only reach as far as his shoulders in this position. When Taemin finally detaches himself from Kibum’s body, leaving stinging skin in his aftermath, Kibum pushes him back into place. He has unfinished business to take care of.

 

The left nipple that went untouched earlier quickly stiffens under his touch. Kibum thumbs at it until it is fully erect and pinches it hard; Taemin gasps, grasping his wrist.

 

“Too much?”

 

“No…” It looks like there’s something Taemin wants to say, but for some reason he’s not. Kibum waits for him, until he blushes and says “Can you do it like before? Like… with your mouth?”

 

How adorable. Kibum is so tempted to tease him, but he’s too cute to fluster any further. Instead, he does what Taemin asks, straining his arms and shoulders to mouth at his chest, to tongue at his nipple and suckle on it.

 

Taemin’s reaction is instantaneous. He squirms under Kibum with a strangled cry, as if he can’t decide whether he wants to surrender or escape.

 

It’s such a potent sound. Kibum breaks out in cold sweat as his body’s heat rushes south to pool down low, signalling his impending orgasm. His thrusts have picked up speed and become erratic without him noticing, but now he hears the wet slap of skin against skin as if it’s a soundtrack to the scene they’re playing out on the bed.

 

“Touch yourself,” Kibum tells Taemin. It’ll be better this way, for Taemin to come with a cock inside him, than anything Kibum might be able to do for him after he’s reached completion himself.

 

A hand in his face is his response. Kibum immediately understands what Taemin is asking for; he licks the offered palm, flat-tongued and as sloppily as he can manage. When Taemin is satisfied, he takes himself in hand, jerking off with urgency. For his part, Kibum keeps up a steady pace as Taemin brings himself to climax, mouthing at his neck and shoulders – whatever part of him he can reach – to help him along.

 

When Taemin is close, his body gives it away. His legs, stronger than Kibum imagined, lock around his waist as if he wants to keep Kibum pressed in deep. His insides clench tightly around Kibum’s cock, making it near impossible to pull out. His breaths come out ragged.

 

His eyes fall shut.

 

His head tips back.

 

A sight so erotic that it steals Kibum’s breath.

 

A sharp inhale.

 

Then he cums, his orgasm triggering Kibum’s completion too; Kibum keep fucking into him as his spills his seed into the condom, arrhythmic, chasing that highest of highs.

 

And then it’s over.

 

Kibum’s thighs are sticky with Taemin’s release and his whole body is sticky with sweat. He pulls out carefully and makes quick work of the condom, slipping it off and tying a knot in it before dropping it in the wastebasket. Taemin lies on the bed, still breathing heavily, and Kibum flops his tired body next to him.

 

“You okay?”

 

Taemin nods, then adds “That was good.”

 

“I was asking if you need anything, not angling for a performance review,” Kibum replies, feeling just a touch sassy. He should be in a good mood, but somehow, there’s a pit of uneasiness opening up inside his chest that he can’t bury.

 

“There should be wet wipes somewhere.” Taemin holds up a cum-stained hand. “Or just grab a towel.”

 

“Sure.” Kibum pecks Taemin on the cheek and gets up to retrieve the requested items, glad to put a little space between them. This part is a little awkward, mostly because of the indefinable status of their relationship. It’s not a one-night stand but it isn’t quite friendship either; should he be politely considerate or affectionate? How affectionate? Should they kiss and cuddle, should they share a shower?

 

By some luck, the wet wipes are inside the first drawer that he opens. He takes the whole pack and returns to the bed, handing Taemin a few sheets before using a couple to wipe drying cum off his thighs.

 

“Do you mind if I shower first?”

 

“Nah, go ahead.”

 

There’s bottled water on the nightstand. Kibum cracks one open and passes it to Taemin before he heads into the bathroom.

 

As soon as the door slides shut behind him, Kibum feels a palpable sense of relief. The pit of uneasiness he felt earlier has grown until it now feels like something tangible caught in his throat, choking him, until he realises that he’s been holding his breath.

 

Get a grip, Kibum tells himself. This isn’t high school, and he’s not an inexperienced teenager feeling let down by his first sexual encounter; crying in the bathroom wasn’t a good look then and it certainly isn’t now.

 

The bathroom is functional but by no means luxurious. It’s short and narrow, as small as it can be whilst still fitting in a shower stall, sink and toilet. There are towels folded under the sink and paper-wrapped toiletries on a shower caddy. A single fluorescent light floods the entire room with white light.

 

There’s nowhere to hide from his reflection in the mirror.

 

Hair: a mess. Not a sexy, tousled-bedhead mess, but a windblown, unkempt and unflattering mess. Face: greasy. His moisturiser and sunblock have run over the course of the day, unevenly, in ugly streaks around his T-zones. His eyes are sunken. Skin: used. There’s a random patchwork of hickies on his neck and collarbones, carelessly placed. It looks like he’s been strangled.

 

Altogether, the mirror shows him an unattractive likeness; a picture of a pathetic man crumbling despite his best efforts to pretend that everything is alright. He’s too old to be getting over a break-up by partying and bedding random strangers.

 

Kibum touches his darkest lovebite, the one at the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. Chaejin used to leave marks there too, but they were always smaller and prettier, a pucker shaped like a rose. How unlike the one he has now, large and visibly tooth-marked. Kibum rubs his fingers into it, feeling the sting of a bruise forming, and wishes that it would turn into one of Chaejin’s pretty marks. What wouldn’t he give to have one of them on his skin. Such precious things they were, but Kibum can’t even remember the last time he wore one.

 

What wouldn’t he give to have just one more?

 

The eyes of the man in the mirror become glassy with tears. His thoughts have strayed into dangerous waters, Kibum realises, and he stops poking at the bruise. His relationship with Chaejin is over. He will never gift a love bit to Kibum again, nor will Kibum to him. There’s no point wishing for something that can never materialise.

 

He should be doing something more productive, like bathing. Kibum steps into the shower stall and, after adjusting the temperature knob, turns the water on. The hot spray of water is like a waterfall. There is nothing to do, nothing to think about, other than being in the here and now in the drumming of water against his skin.

 

Kibum doesn’t keep track of how much time passes as he shampoos his hair and scrubbing his skin – though he does make sure to leave half the bottle of shower gel for Taemin – but when he steps out of the shower, he feels clean.

 

This time, when Kibum looks into the wondrously unfogged mirror, he’s not disgusted by what he sees. His black hair is gleaming wet and slicked back and his skin is clear and smooth. The various marks don’t look quite as stark as they did earlier; most will likely fade before the end of the week. And Taemin was right, he does have discernible pecs and abs, even if they’re not quite as visible as he’d like them to be.

 

Satisfied, Kibum wraps the towel around his waist and leaves the no-longer-necessary sanctuary of the bathroom.

 

Taemin is lounging on the bed in exactly the same spot, kicking his feet in the air as he rifles through the bowl of condoms and lube. Kibum feels bad about the way he practically fled to the bathroom earlier, in particular the way he hadn’t even taken a few minutes to indulge in pillow-talk or post-coital affection.

 

“Hey.” Kibum crouches by the bed and playfully ruffles Taemin’s hair – which is beautifully tousled as if he’s been styled for a photoshoot. “Are yo-”

 

“I’m going to bite you if your next word is okay. Or fine.”

 

“You’ve already bitten me,” Kibum replies, amused and relieved that Taemin isn’t put off by his earlier insensitivity. He finger-combs Taemin’s hair into tidiness, not missing the way Taemin leans into his hand. “D’you want to shower?”

 

Taemin doesn’t reply immediately, but Kibum doesn’t mind. He continues playing with his hair, impressed by how soft it is despite being bleached.

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Take your time, there’s no rush,” Kibum says, but Taemin is already pulling away and climbing out of bed.

 

Once Taemin is in the bathroom, Kibum starts tidying the room. Their clothes are messily strewn on the floor around the bed, along with used wrappers. Kibum folds Taemin’s clothes – taking the pain to dust the remaining salt and sand off the legs of his jeans first – and puts it in a pile on the bed and throws the empty foil packets into the bin.

 

His stomach rumbles. Loudly.

 

A quick check on his phone shows that it is now past 1am. He doesn’t even have a granola bar in his bag to munch on. If he’s hungry, Taemin might be too. Perhaps they should have split a large portion of stew like he had suggested.

 

Ah, but there is a Coco! on the same row as the motel, isn’t there? It was open less than an hour earlier, so there’s a good chance it’s still open now. Kibum quickly pulls his clothes on, grabs the keycard out of Taemin’s coat pocket and sets off in search of food.

 

*

 

Melon pan. Tamago sandwich. Wakame onigiri. Chocolate cream puffs. Calbee cheese-flavoured potato sticks. UCC café latte. Kirin Fire black coffee. Strawberry milk. Suntory peach chuhai. Calpis grape-flavoured yogurt drink.

 

There isn’t any logic to the items Kibum places in his basket. He can’t read Japanese and half the shelves in this tired-looking Coco! de Bake are empty. The pastries, apart from the cream puffs, look like they’re at the very limit of their lifespan, but they make it into Kibum’s basket anyway because he wants to grab as wide a range of snacks as possible. He has no idea what Taemin likes.

 

The cashier scans his impulsive purchases with feigned disinterest, but Kibum catches his eyes wandering to the marks on his neck. Surely the kid knows that there’s a love motel next door, right? Who else would patronise this badly-stocked, run down konbini in the arse end of nowhere at this time of the night?

 

Once he’s paid, Kibum can’t get back to his room fast enough. The night air has only gotten cooler and he’s really feeling the chill after his warm shower. He power-walks back to the motel, practically runs across the lobby and jabs impatiently at the lift’s buttons. He kicks his shoes off, uncaring that they land haphazardly on the rack, and pushes the door open-

 

-to see Taemin sitting on the bed, naked except for the towel around his waist, taking a drag off a cigarette and filling the room with smoke.

 

It’s not what he expected to walk in to, and from the look on Taemin’s face, he’s not the only one who’s shocked.

 

“You’re smoking?” “You came back?”

 

Taemin’s hair isn’t even wet, Kibum realises, and only then does his question register. “What do you mean I came back?”

 

Taemin takes another long drag and exhales out of the side of his mouth, as if that makes a difference. “You don’t mind, right? I’m almost done. And I’ll open the window.”

 

Flustered, Kibum says “Yeah, it’s fine, but-”

 

Taemin doesn’t give him an opening. “What’s that?” he asks, gesturing at the bag in Kibum’s hand.

 

“This? Oh, I got us some snacks,” Kibum answers absent-mindedly, still taking in details that don’t quite add up. Taemin’s hair isn’t wet and the towel he’s wearing is crisp and fluffy. “Weren’t you going to shower?”

 

Looking somewhat sheepish, Taemin replies “Ah, no. I wanted a smoke first. I’ll shower now… unless you’d like to go again?”

 

As much as Kibum is totally up for more of the indulgent, decadent sex they had earlier, he has no idea how one and the other are related. “Huh?”

 

Slowly, as if Kibum is stupid, Taemin explains “Unless it’s a quickie, I don’t think we have enough time for sex and a shower and snacks. And I’m kinda hungry, so I don’t mind skipping the shower.”

 

“It’s your choice,” Kibum says, figuring that Taemin probably doesn’t want to shower before getting icky again. “But there’s plenty of time-”

 

“It’s like, 20 minutes to 2.”

 

“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin at 2?”

 

That makes Taemin pause, and he develops the cutest little eyebrow scrunch Kibum has ever seen.

 

“Did you book the room for more than an hour?”

 

“Yeah, for the whole night,” Kibum replies, finally understanding why Taemin was so concerned about time.

 

“What?” Taemin looks horrified. “Even two hours is fine, but a whole night? That’s… it’s ridiculously expensive! They ripped you off!”

 

Kibum shrugs. “I asked for a whole night. And yes, it’s expensive but I’d prefer that to freezing to death. And I’m not the sort of arse who’ll kick you out when the bed’s big enough for the both of us. Or even if weren’t, to be honest.”

 

Taemin’s clearly surprised – he’s not very good at controlling his expressions – but he covers it up by stubbing the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray. “I mean, it’s your money. I guess… I’ll shower now.”

 

It comes out as more of a question than a statement, but Kibum responds to it as if it’s the latter. “Cool.”

 

Once Taemin is in the shower, Kibum sits on the spot he vacated; the sheets bear the traces of his body’s heat and the scent of his menthol cigarette infuses the whole room. In this place, Kibum tries to put himself in Taemin’s shoes, to try to understand why their earlier conversation makes him feel uneasy.

 

Taemin’s misunderstanding about the duration of their stay isn’t weird. He’s clearly been here before and if he’s in the habit of booking it for only an hour or two at a time – Kibum has no idea how much a dancer makes – then it’s not unusual for him to assume that Kibum would do the same.

 

Nor is it weird for him to want a smoke. There’s a reason why smoking after sex is a media trope.

 

No, what is weird is how Taemin said he wanted to shower, went into the bathroom and waited for Kibum to leave before coming out to smoke. What is weird is how shocked he looked to see Kibum; what is weird is what he said to Kibum. “You came back.”

 

Kibum’s heart drops, sinks so low that his chest physically aches with the heaviness of it.

 

Taemin didn’t expect him to come back.

 

Maybe he’s just a pessimist, Kibum tries to reason with himself, and he heard the door opening while he was in the bathroom and assumed that Kibum had done a runner. But in his heart of hearts, Kibum knows that the truth is not so palatable.

 

He can imagine it, a younger Taemin coming out of the shower in a motel much like this one to find the room empty and the bed cold; he can picture Taemin waiting for someone who’d never come back, loathing himself more with each passing minute and not understanding why he hates himself so much when it was the other man who deserves to be hated.

 

That poor boy.

 

Kibum dearly wishes that it only happened once and that Taemin got over it quickly, though he knows that his wishes are pointless and that he really shouldn’t be getting so emotional over someone he barely knows.

 

The bathroom door creaks open and Taemin emerges in a cloud of steam. “God, that was so good,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “The heater in my house doesn’t work so well, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a hot shower.”

 

“Your hair is still wet,” Kibum replies. “Better dry it before you catch a cold.”

 

Taemin picks his underwear off the pile Kibum folded and slips it on under the towel before whipping the towel off. Instead of wearing his own clothes, he takes Kibum’s white singlet; it’s loose on Kibum, but Taemin’s drowning in it. “It’ll dry on it’s own,” he says, yawning. “I don’t like towel-drying my hair, it makes it messy.”

 

Perhaps because he still feels sorry for him – and maybe because he feels sorry to have behaved in a way to make Taemin suspect that he’s the sort of person who would do that – Kibum takes the towel and nudges Taemin to sit on the bed. “It won’t if you do it carefully. I’ll do it.”

 

Taemin looks surprised, but he doesn’t protest or turn down the offer. He sits as still as a doll as Kibum dries his hair, seemingly lost in thought just as much as Kibum is. It feels weird for Kibum to be doing this, but it isn’t until Taemin leans back to make it easier for Kibum to reach his bangs that he realises why; Chaejin used to do this for him, whenever he came home soaking wet because he’d forgotten to take his umbrella and had been caught in the rain.

 

“There, that’s better,” Kibum says, pulling away even though Taemin’s hair is still a little damp. That unbidden memory has soured what was supposed to be a simple gesture.

 

“So… snacks?”

 

Kibum waves his hand, indicating that Taemin can help himself, as he returns the towel to its rack in the bathroom. He shrugs out of his jeans too, figuring that they’ll have to be removed at some later point anyway. He comes out to find Taemin with the pink plastic bag in his lap, rummaging through it with the sort of concentration usually reserved for a newspaper. Hasn’t he found anything to his taste? “I didn’t know what you’d want-”

 

“Oh, I want this!” Taemin exclaims, cutting him off. He pulls out the strawberry milk and holds it aloft as if it’s a trophy, smiling happily, and Kibum’s heart aches again. “Can I?”

 

“Go ahead, I’m not a fan of cold milk.” Kibum sits next to him and looks through the bag, passing over the coffee in favour of the peach chuhai. “Have you had this before?”

 

“Yeah, it’s okay. I find it a bit too sweet, but it’s not bad.” Taemin’s lips form a little pout as he struggles with the straw and the foil lid of the milk; Kibum is tempted to just do it for him, but he keeps his hands and his amusement to himself. Just a short moment later, Taemin manages it and takes a sip immediately, his eyes falling shut as if this cheap strawberry milk is the finest of liquors. He chugs half the milk in one breath and blushes when he notices Kibum staring. “I was thirsty.”

 

“What else is good?”

 

“Hmmm…” Taemin rummages through the bag and pulls out one of the cream puffs. “This is delicious and you can’t get it in Korea because it’s made from fresh milk, but I haven’t tried the chocolate one before.”

 

“I’ll try that then.” Kibum takes the cream puff and peels the paper packaging open, noting that the pastry inside is much smaller than the packaging would lead a person to believe.

 

“I like this,” Taemin says, carelessly ripping open the bag of Calbee potato sticks. “But some of my friends say it’s too salty.”

 

“You can have it, I’ll just try one.”

 

Taemin’s friends are right, it is much too salty. Kibum cracks open the chuhai to quench his sudden sodium-induced dehydration; it’s refreshing and peachy and not too sweet like Taemin said.

 

But the cream puff, that is fucking delicious. “Oh my god,” Kibum says after his first mouthful “this is fantastic!”

 

“Right? Like, you can say it’s delicious a thousand times but-” Taemin talks with his mouth full, which would normally drive Kibum up the wall, but he’s too overwhelmed by the ambrosial cream puff to give a damn “-it’s not enough to describe how good it is.”

 

“Uh huh.” Kibum stuffs the rest of the too-small cream puff into his mouth and grabs another one from the bag. How many did he buy anyway? The choux pastry is as airy and buttery as anything made by a master French baker, and the cream filling is not the whipped cream filling he expected, but proper crème patisserie; light, stiff and bursting with flavour. He’s definitely going to drop by the Coco! tomorrow and buy every single one of these things off their shelves.

 

“D’you want the sandwich?”

 

“No, you can have it,” Kibum says, but when he sees Taemin’s hamster cheeks, he can’t help commenting “Can you chew your food properly? I have no idea how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre so if you choke you’re dead, and it’s really undignified to die in a love motel.”

 

As if it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy Kibum set in motion by warning him, Taemin snorts with laughter and promptly starts coughing as he chokes on whatever he was eating. Kibum sits up, startled, but Taemin coolly takes the chuhai from him and drinks and then he’s fine.

 

“Yah, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

 

“You can’t make a joke and expect people not to laugh,” Taemin protests. Kibum rolls his eyes, half-exasperated and half-pleased that Taemin seems to find everything he says witty.

 

Unlike the first, the second cream puff is eaten slowly, savoured and appreciated. Sated, Kibum brushes stray crumbs off his clothes and crawls up the bed to rest on the pillows. The fluffy softness of the motel’s fat pillows feels so good against his back and Kibum is somewhat taken aback by the groan that escapes him. He’s not even thirty and he hasn’t done anything particularly strenuous today, so why does he feel so tired? His parents didn’t even groan like this until they were past forty.

 

*

 

The room is dark.

 

Kibum blinks, trying to adjust, and is almost blinded by a rectangle of bright light; Taemin’s disembodied head floats over it. It takes a beat or two for him to decipher what he’s seeing, which is just Taemin using his phone in the dark room.

 

Why is it dark?

 

“Oh, you’re awake.”

 

Awake? Kibum cannot even remember closing his eyes, let alone falling asleep. He must have though, because his mind is fogged in the way only sleep can achieve and he’s struggling to find the words to communicate his wish to have the lights back on.

 

“Lights,” he grunts and immediately regrets it when his eyes are stabbed by orange brightness. He must have been drunk or mad earlier when he classed the lighting in this room as dim because it sure as hell feels like he’s staring into the sun right now.

 

“You okay?” Taemin asks. Kibum glares at him, annoyed at his obvious amusement. But more than that, Kibum is mortified to have fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. “How long was I out?”

 

“Hmmm…” Taemin checks his phone. “Maybe half an hour?”

 

“I’m sorry-”

 

“Ah, no, it’s nothing,” Taemin says quickly, cutting Kibum’s apology off. “It’s quite normal at your age, isn’t it?”

 

“At my age?”

 

There’s a cheeky glint in Taemin’s eyes when he replies “You’re obviously older than me. Stamina reduces with age.”

 

This must be the face Lucifer showed God, Kibum thinks; spewing poison from his mouth with the sweetest smile on his face. “You’re asking for a beating.”

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, decreased stamina, inability to tolerate cold weather, irritability… they’re all signs of aging, my friend.” Taemin beams at him. “Or should I be calling you ahjussi?”

 

That’s it. Kibum bats the phone out of Taemin’s hand, pushes him down on the bed and straddles him. It’s exactly the reaction Taemin was angling for, judging by the way he grins – wolfish – just before he launches his own attack, aiming straight for Kibum’s armpits like he did earlier. Pity he doesn’t realise that Kibum isn’t the type to fall for the same trick twice; he catches Taemin’s wrists easily and pins them down by his head.

 

“Tsk, look how easily you lost to me. Wanna take back the ahjussi comment?”

 

Of course Taemin doesn’t. “It only hurts because it’s true, ahju-”

 

A kiss cuts Taemin off before he can fully vocalise that offensive – and untrue – label. It’s a violent kiss, full of teeth and lacking in grace, but despite that Kibum doesn’t pull away even when Taemin bites him and Taemin doesn’t pull away either until he’s breathing heavily.

 

“Take it back,” Kibum says again. He’s not angry at all, or even serious; this is a game that Taemin initiated and he’s perfectly happy to play along.

 

“Or what?”

 

“Or I’ll make you beg for it.”

 

“Hah!” Taemin wriggles under him, trying to break his hold, but Kibum keeps a firm grasp on his wrists. “I can’t imagine it. You can’t even leave a hickey without asking for permission, you’re like the world’s most neurotic top. Oh wait, is that a sign of aging too?”

 

It’s on the tip of Kibum’s tongue to respond with a cliché like ‘you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow’ but he knows he would never go that far in these circumstances. It’s one thing to rough up a partner you can take care of the next day, and it’s another altogether to do it to a stranger whose day might well involve running errands or working. “Don’t ask for something you can’t handle,” is what Kibum settles on.

 

“You’re a kitten,” Taemin retorts. “All mew and no bite.”

 

What is left to do but bite him? His lips, so fat and luscious, were begging to be bitten anyway. Taemin tastes of artificial strawberry flavouring, menthol and iron too, since Kibum broke skin when he bit him. Kibum bites and sucks and kisses until Taemin’s lips swell under his tongue and only then does he allow Taemin up for air.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” Taemin taunts, breathless. While Kibum is distracted by the redness of his lips and the huskiness of his voice, he frees his trapped hands and, quick as a flash, grabs Kibum’s hair and pulls him down for another searing kiss. His scalp stings, just like Taemin’s lips must sting when Kibum bites him again. They nip at each other, half-playful and half-aggressive, in exchanges that feel more like fighting than kissing.

 

Kibum yanks his top off and hurls it aside and Taemin scrambles to kick off his underwear. Kibum pulls his own off as well, but pins Taemin down before he can remove his singlet. He straddles Taemin, rubbing their awakening bits together and says “Have you ever had a kitten? Because I have and I can tell you that those motherfuckers are stabbier than Freddy Krueger.”

 

“Who?” Taemin asks, and before Kibum can even figure out whether it’s worth answering that question, continues “I can handle way more than you.”

 

Ouch, Kibum thinks, even though he’s not actually insulted. Taemin isn’t to blame, not when all he has to go on is Kibum’s half-reluctant, half-out-of-practice self that he got earlier, but there’s something more serious in his response than just the insinuation that Kibum isn’t much. It’s a statement, and a reassurance, that Taemin is not just experienced, but that he also knows himself. When he says he can take more, it isn’t just an empty boast.

 

“You asked for it,” is all Kibum has to say, also perfectly serious. And to show it, he leaves a mark right under the curve of Taemin’s jaw, sucking and biting much harder than he did earlier. The mark that blooms there will be dark and it will take a longer time to fade. Taemin doesn’t seem to mind; he doesn’t try to escape but rolls his hips in search for friction.

 

Through the sheer fabric of the singlet, the dark skin of Taemin’s nipples are visible; Kibum presses his thumb into the right one, noticing the way Taemin licks his lips with anticipation, until it stiffens into a peak he can pinch; and pinch he does, hard and merciless, enough to draw a cry of surprise from Taemin. Still, Kibum doesn’t let up. He reaches under the singlet and twists the same nipple, and clamps his lips over Taemin’s to swallow whatever noise he makes. Taemin bucks under him, damn near kneeing him in the balls, and grabs his arm in a vise-like grip, but he has nowhere to escape.

 

Satisfied, Kibum laves his tongue over the poor, abused nipple to soothe it. He’d be worried about going too far if not for how hard Taemin is, how desperately he’s rocking his hips against Kibum’s and leaving sticky trails over his stomach and thighs.

 

“If you think I’m older than you, you should be calling me hyung.”

 

“Fuck you,” Taemin hisses.

 

“Wrong answer.” Kibum climbs off the bed and walks to the low table with the bowl of goodies. “I’m the one who’s going to be fucking you.”

 

“From across the room?”

 

How dim can a person be, Kibum wonders. He finds lube first, the same blue packet with the water droplet that he used earlier, and roots through the bowl for an acceptable condom. In the sea of blue, purple and red packs, he spots a single gold one and picks that.

 

“The gold one is lubricated, I think,” Taemin pipes up from behind him, giving Kibum a bit of a jolt since he never noticed Taemin getting off the bed.

 

“Are you a condom connoisseur or something?” Kibum asks, rhetorically more than he has any real interest in an answer. His arousal hangs hot and heavy between his legs, demanding to be quenched; he’s not bothered about condom varieties at the moment. Taemin is right, though. The condom that he extracts from the gold foil is slightly slippery, indicating that it is indeed lubricated.

 

Kibum carelessly jerks himself a few times to ensure that he’s hard enough to wear the condom. The touch of his own hand – that he’s had to grow accustomed to recently – does nothing to sate his hunger, but stokes it more. Now that he’s been inside Taemin, it feels like he’ll never get off any other way again.

 

Pointing at the nearest corner of the bed, Kibum says “Bend over here.”

 

Taemin raises an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed, but Kibum sees right through his façade of resistance. “You can bend over now, or I can make you, but if I have to make you, I won’t let you get off. Your choice.”

 

Just as he expects, Taemin doesn’t call his bluff – there’s no way Kibum would leave him hanging. He huffs, but gets into position perfectly; draped over the corner of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the floor and his upper body resting flat on the bed. It looks like he’s presenting himself to Kibum, as if his arse is a peach ripe for picking.

 

“Good boy,” Kibum praises, stroking the curve of his backside. “Spread your legs a little for me.”

 

Standing between his legs, Kibum squeezes a liberal amount of lube onto two of his fingers and pulls Taemin’s perky buttcheek aside to reveal his tightly furled hole. Despite all of their banter earlier, Kibum is careful; he rubs his wet fingers over it, spreading lube and testing how open Taemin is.

 

He’s still pliant and slightly slack from being fucked not an hour earlier. Slowly, so as not to catch him by surprise, Kibum presses both fingers at his opening and slicks the rim with lube before pushing in. His own arousal spikes when he feels how Taemin’s body opens up to welcome the intrusion, whilst Taemin breath hitches ever so slightly. It’s not the first time tonight Kibum has drawn that sound from him, but it’s only now that he appreciates how erotic a sound it is.

 

The feeling of Taemin’s inner walls, clenching and unclenching around his fingers, is not new anymore, but no less arousing for that. More so, now that Kibum has been inside that heat and knows how good it feels around his cock; with fast-ebbing patience, he wriggles his fingers around and scissors them, cursorily stretching Taemin without taking the time to pleasure him like he did earlier.

 

Not that Taemin seems to mind. He spreads his legs wider and pushes back as much as he can in this position, making it clear that he’s able to take whatever Kibum’s giving him.

 

Two fingers is all Kibum has the patience for. The glide will definitely be easier if he uses three fingers, but Taemin clearly doesn’t mind rough play and Kibum is in the mood for the same. He doesn’t intend to be too rough anyway, and he trusts Taemin to let him know if he oversteps his limits.

 

The only thing left to do is to dump the remainder of the lube on his wrapped – and already lubricated – cock and spread it evenly.

 

“I’m going to fall asleep here,” Taemin grumbles, that little attention whore. Kibum’s only had his hands off him for less than a minute and he’s already whining. “You know, like your dick apparently did-”

 

His complaints come to a swift, gasped end when Kibum pushes in without warning, holding Taemin down with a hand on the small of his back and pressing relentlessly past any resistance until his groin meets the roundness of Taemin’s asscheeks.

 

“Oh fuck,” Taemin hisses.

 

Kibum doesn’t hold back a moan, he feels so good just being inside Taemin that his toes are curling with pleasure. Taemin’s walls hug his length tightly, undulating as if his body can’t decide whether to fight or welcome the foreign intrusion. That sensation alone has Kibum at the very edge of his tolerance – maybe Taemin is right to make fun of his stamina. Kibum drapes himself over Taemin to nip at his shoulder. There’s sweat beading at his hairline and his face is flushed red. “Are you ready to beg hyung for mercy?”

 

“Keep dreaming,” Taemin scoffs, but potency of his reply is muted by the breathlessness with which he says it.

 

“You asked for it,” Kibum whispers in his ear.

 

Kibum pulls back and snaps his hips hard, earning a strangled cry from Taemin. It’s a delicious sound, the icing on the cake of how good it feels. Kibum repeats the movement, once, twice, thrice, quick and hard, and Taemin is delightfully vocal as Kibum ploughs into him; so much so that Kibum hopes the rooms next to theirs are occupied so that the guests can hear what a top-class lay he’s getting to break a too-long period of celibacy.

 

He pauses – partly because of the strain on his back and partly because he’ll blow his load on the next thrust if he doesn’t slow down – and pushes in deep, circling his hips slowly.

 

“Is that all, ahjussi?” Taemin rasps.

 

That gets his arse slapped. He’s got a generous butt for someone so slim and Kibum is amused by the way it jiggles with impact, so he smacks him again, reddening the skin.

 

That’s all the break he needs. Kibum grabs a hold of Taemin’s hips with both hands, pushing his thumbs into the indents at the base of his spine, and pulls out almost all the way out.

And then he slams in, as hard and deep as he can. Taemin nearly wails, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the bedsheets, but he’s trapped in place between the bed and Kibum’s body and by Kibum’s hands on his hips, forcing him to take every last inch that Kibum drives into him. Kibum doesn’t let up. He fucks into Taemin with wild abandon, filling the room with a carnal symphony; the smacking of their bodies, the wet squelch of lube, his grunts and moans and Taemin’s loud cries. Sweat drips down his forehead to land on the canvass that is Taemin’s back, a vast expanse of skin exposed now that the singlet has been rucked up with the force of their movements.

 

He fucks Taemin desperately, rabbiting his hips into Taemin’s with singular purpose. Taemin’s body squeezes him tightly, as tight as the grasp Kibum has on his hips. The wave of Kibum’s pleasure crests and his hips lose rhythm; he buries himself deep inside Taemin’s body, drawing another desperate cry from him, and comes so hard that his vision whites out.

 

The first thing Kibum regains awareness of is his own breathing, ragged. Then, the scent of shampoo in Taemin’s hair and the saltiness of his sweaty skin; he’s lying on top of Taemin with his face pressed into the nape of Taemin’s neck. He leaves a kiss there and is about to bestow more when Taemin makes a sound of discomfort. He’s shifting restlessly under Kibum, and it’s then that Kibum realises that his legs are shaking with the effort to remain standing.

 

Quickly, Kibum sits up, removing most of his weight, and carefully pulls out. It’s a bit of an awkward dance, helping Taemin up onto bed whilst keeping a hand around the condom so that it doesn’t fall off and spill its contents on the carpet, but Kibum manages. Taemin’s not much help, not that Kibum blames him.

 

Every second that ticks by as Kibum ties the condom off and hurls it into the bin feels like a second too long, but it’s doesn’t even take half a minute before Kibum climbs into bed with Taemin. He rolls him over onto his back and, noting the slight tremble in his limbs, drapes his body over Taemin’s. “Hey gorgeous,” he coos, wrapping his arms around Taemin.

 

Taemin nuzzles at his face, asking for a kiss that Kibum is too happy to grant. It’s a pity that he came first – it happens and Kibum doesn’t mind when he’s on the receiving end, but when he’s topping he prefers his partners to reach completion first – but he’ll do whatever Taemin wants to get him off, whether that involves his hands or mouth or both.

 

He reaches down and is surprised – not in a good way – to find that Taemin’s only half-hard. From the sounds he was making, Kibum had assumed that he was enjoying himself, but was that assumption wrong?

 

Detaching his mouth from Taemin’s, he looks down at his rapidly deflating cock in dismay; he’s on the verge of apologising when he notices the flecks of white on insides of Taemin’s thighs and is surprised again – in a good way this time – to realise that he got Taemin off without even touching him. “Did you come?”

 

“Yeah,” Taemin says, nodding too. “That’s never happened before.”

 

No surprises there. To orgasm from penetration alone is rare; even with a partner like Chaejin who at times seemed to know Kibum’s body better than he did, it rarely happened. If Taemin’s only had dalliances with men – men who apparently abandoned him at the first opportunity – it’s more likely than not that he’s never experienced this before. Kibum isn’t delusional to assume that it’s the result of his sexual prowess, when it could probably be attributed to a lucky combination of conducive factors, such as the bed being the right height and him inadvertently picking the right angle.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Taemin rolls his eyes at him, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. “Yeah… hey, where are you going?”

 

“Grabbing a towel, I’ll be right back,” Kibum explains, doing just that. He runs the towel under the hot water tap for a few seconds to get it damp and wipes his nether regions clean, and rinses it before taking it to Taemin.

 

Taemin reaches for towel, but Kibum keeps it. “Let me.”

 

“You don’t have to.” There’s a faint blush creeping up Taemin’s face. It strengthens Kibum’s resolve to do this for him, because no one should feel embarrassed to have a lover care for them. “Really-”

 

“I know, but I want to.”

 

So Taemin lets him, even if he doesn’t lose the blush until Kibum takes the cum-and-lube stained towel back to the bathroom.

 

When Kibum turns the bathroom lights off and shuts the door behind him, he finds Taemin sitting up in bed, looking unsure. It’s a look that kindles a fierce protectiveness in him, that makes him want to go back in time and wring the neck of the man who made Taemin assume that his future lovers would want to get rid of him as soon as they got off. Didn’t Kibum say earlier that the bed was big enough for them, that Taemin was welcome to stay even if it wasn’t?

 

“Hey babe,” Kibum says in lieu of all the questions he wants to ask. He climbs on the bed and starts turning the covers down. “Get in?”

 

He waits until Taemin’s settled in before hitting the lights and tucking the covers around them. There’s only a faint light coming in through the window, some moonlight or perhaps neon lights from one of the shops down the same row.

 

“Is there anything you want? Water?”

 

Taemin shakes his head. He’s wearing that unreadable expression again, that Kibum can’t decipher and doesn’t know how to react to. What does Taemin want, Kibum wonders, and it’s then that the answer strikes him. He can’t understand what Taemin wants because Taemin doesn’t know either; he’s as lost as Kibum.

 

On a hunch, Kibum slowly runs his hand through Taemin’s hair, running his fingers through the long strands hanging over his face. Taemin exhales audibly, leaning into the touch so easily that he reminds Kibum of an abandoned kitten that’ll follow any human that pets them. He repeats the action and Taemin shuffles closer, practically pushing his face into Kibum’s hand. He’s certain now; Taemin wants affection – some form of post-coital aftercare – but he’s either unaware of his own need or too shy to articulate it.

 

No matter, Kibum has figured it out now and he’s happy to do whatever it takes to meet this need.

 

Fluffing his pillow, Kibum lies back and holds an arm open in invitation; one that Taemin takes without hesitation, laying his head on Kibum’s shoulder and throwing an arm around his midriff.

 

It’s nice. Taemin’s body is a line of warmth pressed along the right side of his body and it’s easy for Kibum to stroke his hair like this. It’s comfortable, in way that Kibum has missed. He can’t even remember the last time he slept with someone; it must have been Chaejin, but they stopped sharing a bed long before they broke up. He’s as starved for touch as Taemin, and evidently, as clueless.

 

And there he goes, thinking of Chaejin again.

 

Oblivious to the dark turn of Kibum’s thoughts, Taemin nuzzles his neck. “Are you actually older than me?”

 

That makes Kibum laugh. “Wow, was I that good, to go from ahjussi to your dongsaeng? I don’t know, how old are you?”

 

“Twenty-five.”

 

“Yeah, I’m older,” Kibum says. “Twenty-seven. But that hyung thing-”

 

-was just a joke, Kibum was about to say. He’s never been the sort to insist on formality and he hates it when other people do. But Taemin speaks over him before he can finish his sentence. “I guess I should be calling you Ki-” he cuts himself off with a huge yawn “-hyung.”

 

“Ki-hyung?” Kibum parrots, teasing him.

 

Of course, there’s little point teasing someone who’s on the verge of falling asleep. Taemin doesn’t even catch Kibum’s little joke, and he just hums in agreement as he settles in with Kibum’s shoulder as his pillow.

 

Kibum strokes his hair until he falls asleep, and long after too. He lies awake in the dark, accompanied by the steady rise and fall of Taemin’s chest and the low hum of the heater, but so very lonely nonetheless. If things had gone a little differently, instead of lying in a seedy love motel with a man he met only this morning, he’d be falling asleep in the arms of the man he’d loved for the past four years.

 

In the end, Taemin is the one who once again saves him from slipping under the quicksand of Chaejin-related regrets. He stretches in his sleep, kicking the covers off his feet and draping one leg over Kibum’s.

 

“Yah, am I your bolster?” Kibum asks softly. There’s a bit of a chill creeping into the bed now, thanks to Taemin’s antics, but there’s no way Kibum can fix the covers without dislodging him and even if he could, he’s too tired to move.

 

If there is one silver lining to the dark cloud that is his break up with Chaejin, it’s the fact that he gets to be here with Taemin, Kibum realises. He gets to spoil Taemin, to give him all the affection he doesn’t dare ask for and even though Taemin is still a stranger to him, he’s a less of a stranger than he was this morning.

 

Comforted by that thought, Kibum drifts into well-deserved rest.

 

*

 

Seagulls cawing.

 

It’s a familiar, if unexpected, alarm. Kibum spent a year in Sydney as an exchange student once, and every morning he’d be woken up by the cawing of seagulls outside the window of his rented flat as they fought over scraps of bread thrown out by the café on the ground floor. His flatmates hated them, so Kibum pretended to as well, but he secretly liked hearing their morning cacophony. It made him feel a little less lonely in a foreign country.

 

You’d think that a 6-star hotel would have better soundproofing, Kibum grumps, before immediately remembering that he didn’t spend the night in the expensive, exclusive luxury hotel that his company booked for him. No, he spent the night in a seedy love motel in an even seedier neighbourhood with Taemin, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder and whose warmth and weight are now missing.

 

That wakes him right up. There’s a little light in the room – the gentle rays of the newly risen sun – that allows him to see without hurting his eyes.

 

Taemin hasn’t disappeared like he feared; he’s sleeping a little further away, with his head pressed flat against the mattress in a way that Kibum would find uncomfortable.

 

He’s beautiful.

 

Kibum’s brain short-circuits, and for a moment, he wonders whether he’s still dreaming or whether he was blind all of yesterday.

 

Taemin is so beautiful.

 

The soft morning light streaks his platinum blonde hair with the slightest tinge of gold. Kibum knows how soft his hair is, having spent a good part of his night stroking it, but it looks as fine as spun silk now. His skin too, is pale gold and rosy; unlike his slender body, his face still retains so much baby fat and is so soft, so smooth and unblemished that he looks much younger than his stated twenty-five years. His lips that Kibum had kissed and sucked and bitten last night are still swollen and pink, as tempting as the apple that got Eve thrown out of paradise.

 

How didn’t he see this before, Kibum wonders. Taemin is possibly the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, and he’s only realising it now?

 

Kibum rolls onto his side, facing Taemin. He’s fully awake now, but somehow he feels spellbound; he can’t – nor does he have any desire to – tear his eyes away from the gift bestowed upon them.

 

Is this what an artist sees when he finds his muse? Kibum is by no means a religious person, but looking at Taemin, he finds it impossible not to see the hand of some higher power at work, that created a thing of such sublime perfection and laid it in his bed for him to see. To think that he was allowed to touch – to sully – the favoured creation of that higher power seems almost blasphemous.

 

It will be a lucky man – or woman, more likely – that gets to wake up to this every morning, some time in the future. Kibum is not so greedy to covet such a privilege; it’s enough that he got to see this at all.

 

A truck rumbles along the road outside, breaking the quiet of the morning.

 

The spell breaks. Taemin’s brow furrows as he’s dragged into wakefulness and Kibum comes to his senses; this isn’t some angel that tumbled out of heaven into his bed, but a human who’s a little paranoid and not homophobic. This is Kibum’s stranger, a guy who likes strawberry milk, who owns a beautiful coat and who can’t be bothered to roll his jeans up when he takes a walk along the beach.

 

“Hey,” Kibum croaks, wincing at the dryness of his throat. A grunt is all he gets in response. “Taemin-ah.”

 

With obvious effort, Taemin peels his eyes open. “Is it time to go?” he asks, in a voice that is both soft and husky.

 

Kibum has no idea what the time is. Until that moment, the thought of a checking out hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Uh, hang on.”

 

His phone is in his bag, which, thankfully, is on the floor on his side of the bed – within reach if he stretches just a little. “It’s 8.20-ish.” 8.23am to be exact, but what difference does three minutes make to either of them?

 

Taemin groans and closes his eyes. “It’s too early.”

 

Now that’s a statement Kibum whole-heartedly agrees with, but unlike Taemin who is on a break, he’s here to work. This is exactly the right time to wake up.

 

On a whim, Kibum pulls up the camera and frames a shot of Taemin, just to see whether the camera can capture the details of his beauty – the dark curl of his eyelashes, the flatness of his philtrum, the way his hand reaches out as if searching for Kibum – the way his human eyes see them. Taemin seems as impossible to capture as a constellation of stars.

 

The click of his unsilenced phone is loud in the otherwise quiet room. Taemin’s eyes snap open and Kibum feels like a creep.

 

“You’re really pretty,” he says, both an explanation and an apology. And because he’s an unrepentant monster, he takes another photo; there is a world of difference between Taemin laying still in the exact same position with his eyes closed and open, and the photographer in Kibum wants nothing more than to juxtapose both shots and study the difference. He hands the phone to Taemin to let him see for himself that the photos are not perverse or inappropriate. “Sorry I didn’t ask, I’ll delete them-”

 

“No, don’t.” Taemin pushes himself up on his forearms, yawning twice before suddenly pulling the sheets over his head – and Kibum’s too. His confusion must be evident because Taemin says “It’s too bright.”

 

And no, Kibum wouldn’t classify this new sun as ‘too bright’ but he doesn’t care enough to argue with Taemin.

 

Taemin flicks through the photos, switching between one and the other studiously in a way that makes Kibum nervous. “You’re really good,” he finally says. “I can’t even take a proper selca. This looks so professional.”

 

It’s nothing Kibum hasn’t heard before, but Taemin’s sincere compliment makes his pride glow. “My company wouldn’t be paying me to take a holiday in Japan if I weren’t halfway good.”

 

“I guess.” Taemin hands the phone back to him. “You can take more if you want.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I mean,” Taemin’s blushing now, pink in the cheeks and red at the tips of his ears “like, you can take more photos of me, if you want? I can use them for my sns and stuff.”

 

How adorable, Kibum thinks; not for the first time, and probably not the last either. And how lucky he is, to have his muse come to him and ask to be immortalised. “Okay,” he says, mind racing with possibilities. “Umm, just stay still, like you are now and,” Kibum lays down, so that his camera is pointed up at Taemin “look down at the camera with your eyes only, don’t move your head.”

 

Taemin follows his instructions marvellously, knowing not to smile without being told.

 

The shot comes out beautifully, the ripples in the sheet framing Taemin’s head and focusing the eyes on the splash of colour that is his red lips.

 

“Nice,” Kibum says. He sits up now, pushing the sheets off them and giving his pillow to Taemin. “Lean on your elbows, with the pillow supporting you, and look straight into the camera.”

 

Without being prompted, Taemin tilts his head up slightly and pouts. In the shot, he looks playful.

 

“Again, but change it up a little.”

 

Taemin runs a hand through his hair, pulling his bangs over his eyes. It’s not as clean a shot as the earlier one, but it has its own charm. Taemin is a charming person, Kibum realises, looking back on their interactions. There’s something about him that catches the eye, so it’s no surprise that the camera loves him too.

 

“I want to see,” Taemin says then, reaching for the phone. “Ohhh, these are all so good!” he exclaims, before laughing a little. “Am I arrogant, to think I’m so handsome?”

 

“No,” Kibum answers honestly. If he had a face like that, he’d never be able to tear himself away from a mirror.

 

“Oh, it’s 8.40 already. Is check-out at 9am?”

 

“No, it’s at 10am.” A small part of Kibum is disappointed with how time seems to be running like a quick-flowing stream this morning. He could spend the whole day photographing Taemin, and they wouldn’t even have to leave the room. He could run an exhibition with this handful of photos, printed black and white of course; he’d call it something wistful like Midnight in Tokyo and stand around looking very much the tortured artist as people discussed the significance of adorning the model in silver earrings when everything else about him is stripped down.

 

But it’s just a fantasy. He’s being paid to photograph scenery and nothing more.

 

“Oh, then I have time to shower. Or do you-”

 

“Go ahead,” Kibum says, remembering Taemin’s remark about his dysfunctional water heater. “I got the first shower yesterday anyway.”

 

“Thank you!” Taemin scrambles out of bed, stretching as he does so. He looks so tempting, dressed in Kibum’s singlet and his cotton candy underwear, sporting little bruises along his collarbones and hips from Kibum’s mouth and hands. His morning wood, which had almost deflated, twitches awake. “Oh, can you send me the photos?”

 

“Sure. Just let me figure out the wi-fi-”

 

“This place doesn’t have wi-fi for guests,” Taemin replies. “You don’t have data?”

 

“Not when I’m roaming.” Kibum thinks for a minute. “If you give me your phone, I can transfer the photos to you with switch.”

 

Taemin digs his phone from under his pillow and tosses it to Kibum as he heads for the bathroom. “Here.”

 

Kibum scrambles to catch it; he wouldn’t dream of throwing his phone around like that and can’t imagine why anyone would. Sure enough, Taemin’s phone is chipped along the edges and has a hairline crack at the bottom of the screen. “Hey, your password?”

 

Taemin pads out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in his mouth to key it in and Kibum takes another photo of him, which he dutifully sends to Taemin along with all of the others. He grabs a few condoms, one in every colour, and a few packets of lube to toss into his bag; souvenirs, as Taemin suggested yesterday. Finally, he starts working on his article, adding to the notes he made about the castle ruins and the mussel hotpot restaurant.

 

By the time Taemin is done, the sun is much higher in the sky. Kibum has to race through his own morning routine, damn near nicking himself with the motel’s cheap razor and cursing Taemin’s baby smooth skin for the entire ten minutes it takes to shave properly.

 

Getting dressed proves to be challenge too. His white singlet, which Taemin took for himself last night, smells of sex. In hindsight, he should have asked Taemin to remove it before fucking him. His pink tank top reeks of fish, alcohol and sweat. His jacket is rumpled. Even his socks smell. The only thing remotely wearable is his jeans.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Ah… it’s just that all of this is really gross,” Kibum explains. “I sweated a lot yesterday.”

 

Taemin thinks for a moment. “If you want, you can come to my house. I can lend you a t-shirt and stuff.”

 

It’s not a practical suggestion at all. Kibum still has to go out in public in these sweaty, smelly clothes, so what difference does it make whether he travels back to his hotel or to Taemin’s house? If anything, the latter option is worse because of the delay it’ll cause. He should turn down Taemin’s very kind but ultimately useless offer and get back to work.

 

“That sounds great.”

 

*

 

“Oh, it looks good on you,” Taemin says when he comes out of the bathroom, feeling as snug as a bug in the red hoodie that Taemin had lent him. It’s thick and warm, barely worn, and covers up the lovebites Taemin had so inconsiderately left all over his neck. There’s an inscription on the front that looks like the name of some metal band, but Kibum can’t read the writing and he doubts that Taemin can either.

 

“It feels so comfortable,” Kibum replies. “Thank you so much, you didn’t have to do any-”

 

“It’s nothing, really. I have too many clothes anyway.”

 

That’s true. Taemin’s room is small and his closet is tiny, and that tiny closet is stuffed to bursting with all types of clothes. Kibum’s fingers had itched with the need to organise the mess, but it’s not in his place to make comments about the tidiness of a stranger’s house.

 

Taemin’s changed too. He’s wearing a red, black, blue and white striped shirt with loose white shorts; a far more fashion-forward combination than most men would attempt. Perhaps he picked up his fashion sense from the idols he works with. Whatever it is, Kibum is impressed.

 

“So…” Kibum casts around for a way to say goodbye. He’s far outstayed his welcome and he really needs to get back to work. Taemin probably wants to get on with his life too.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

Or not. Yes, Kibum is hungry. They had shared the melon pan and Kirin coffee on the bus to Taemin’s house, but that’s barely enough breakfast for one grown man, let alone two. “I guess?”

 

“There’s a café down the road, it’s by the beach too and its speciality is seafood okonomiyaki. The locals come from Naha all the way here to have it. We can have breakfast there and you can put it in your article too.” Taemin talks fast, as if he’s afraid that Kibum will reject his idea unless he lists all of its merits in one breath. “It’s on me, since you got scammed at the motel last night.”

 

“Yah, how many times do I have to explain-” Kibum scolds, stopping when he notices Taemin’s mirth. “Okay, fine, you can buy me breakfast. Let’s go.”

 

Taemin lets him out of the room first and locks the door behind him. Kibum takes a glance at the parts of the house he can see, startling a little when he notices a woman in the kitchen. His sound of surprise must have alerted her, because she looks up from her work and gets startled too.

 

Luckily, Taemin’s right there. “Suzuki-san! Ohayo!”

 

Her face relaxes into a smile. “Ohayo, Taemin-chan.”

 

Taemin speaks to her in rapid Japanese. Kibum catches the word _tomodachi_ in there, so he guesses that Taemin must have introduced him. She bows a little to him and he bows deeper in return, and says to Taemin “I’ll wait outside?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Kibum bows again and steps outside. Waiting for Taemin gives him time to take in the scenery. The first thing he notices is the air. It’s rich and complex, and he feels healthier just breathing it. There’s only a small road separating the houses here from the beach, from the dull and constant roar of the waves and the scent of salt water. It would be prime property, if not for the fact that the houses are all pretty old; not the fashionable sort of old that rich people pay to maintain, but the mid-60s sort of old that just looks tired and outdated. It’s obviously a working class neighbourhood, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Poor people are as entitled to beautiful views as rich ones.

 

The door swings open, spilling a Taemin who’s waving goodbye to his friend? housemate?

 

“That was my landlady,” he says, answering Kibum’s unasked question. “She says you’re welcome to drop by for dinner if you want.”

 

“She looks nice,” Kibum says instead, avoiding the invitation. “Is it just you and her?”

 

“No, she’s got a husband and my colleague rents a room here too. I used to rent a place near my studio, but it was so expensive, I had to share a room with someone just to afford the rent and it wasn’t any different from living in Seoul.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Kibum can empathise with Taemin’s disdain for Seoul’s property market. “I’ve moved three times in the past four years-”

 

“I’m not surprised-”

 

“-and the cost of rent keeps going up, but the properties always have some major defect. Like, my first place had a wall that was just windows, from the floor to the ceiling, but the rooms were always damp. How does that even happen?”

 

Talking to Taemin about his past experiences with renting is so easy. Taemin’s a good listener and he’s funny when he comments, and before Kibum realises how far they’ve walked they’re coming to a stop in front of a quaint little beachside café.

 

It’s the sort of place Kibum loves. There are shell and coral windchimes hanging from the ceiling, tinkling little musical notes in the breeze. The floors are bare wood and so are the tables and chairs, and the pastel blue walls are adorned with unmatched paraphernalia that must have some sort of significance to the owner. There are fishhooks and hats, painted shells and signed photographs. Taemin leads him through the café to a verandah at the back which sits right on the beach. There are a couple of tables here too, the sort with an umbrella in the middle that was popular in the 80s and early 90s.

 

“It’s cute,” Kibum says. He already knows what sort of photos he wants to take here, depending on whether the food is something he can write about in his article. The readership of the magazine he’s writing for isn’t the sort to patronise cute little beachside cafés. “What’s good here?”

 

“Have you had okonomiyaki before?”

 

Of course he has. Kibum has been to Tokyo a few times and even if he hadn’t, you can get okonomiyaki in Seoul, even Daegu, these days. “Yeah.”

 

“This one is made with seafood, like prawns and scallops. And-”

 

“Ohayō gozaimasu!” A waitress comes to them, her hands bare of any menu or notebook. Taemin greets her in return and places their order, stopping only to ask Kibum whether he wants tea or coffee. Normally, Kibum would want to know what else is on the menu and what Taemin is ordering for them but, for some reason, he isn’t too bothered right now. The worst thing that can happen is that he doesn’t like something, and that’s not exactly a disastrous outcome.

 

The food arrives quickly.

 

First, the okonomiyaki. Taemin watches expectantly as Kibum photographs the dish and as he takes a bit of the giant pancake, steaming hot and topped with crisp nori flakes. When he tastes it, he understands. The okonomiyaki batter itself is nothing out of the ordinary, but the seafood is so fresh that it elevates the simple snack to something special. “Oh my god,” Kibum mumbles, his mouth full.

 

“Right?” Taemin helps himself too, stuffing his face until his cheeks puff out like a squirrel. “I could eat this every day.”

 

Their drinks come next, served in little ceramic cups painted with colourful fish. Kibum snaps a photo of that too, setting the cup against the backdrop of the beach and sea. The green tea is hot and simple, but it cuts through the richness of the okonomyaki to create a good balance of tastes.

 

By the time the waitress returns with the next item, they’ve polished off the okonomiyaki and Kibum is still hungry for more. What she sets on the table is a plate with a familiar yellow block of tamago wrapped around some sort of meat. It’s a pretty picture and you really can’t go wrong with a meat and eggs combo for breakfast.

 

“This is really delicious,” Taemin says, his chopsticks hovering over the plate as he waits for Kibum. “I really like tamago.”

 

“It’s really easy to make,” Kibum says, putting his phone down and indicating to Taemin that he can dig in. “What’s the filling of this one?”

 

“Spam. It’s really big in Okinawa because of the army bases.” Taemin takes a big bite, smiling as he chews. “You can make tamago?”

 

Kibum nods in response, since he’s just taken a bite too and doesn’t want to talk with his mouth full. He does know how to make tamago, but it’s not something he cooks regularly because that many eggs is too cloying for one person to eat in one sitting. This particular dish works because the meatiness of the spam balances the fattiness of the egg yolks. It’ll be a bit of a stretch trying to push this into the article, but he’ll manage it somehow.

 

“I tried making it too, but it always burns.” Taemin pouts – he does that a lot, Kibum notices – and helps himself to another heaping bite. The way he stuffs his face shouldn’t be cute in an adult, but somehow, it is. Kibum’s honestly happier watching him eat this tamago-spam creation than he is to eat it himself, so he picks at it and lets Taemin have the lion’s share.

 

Finally comes a bowl of little green berries still on the vine. Kibum can’t tell whether the small green berries are fruit or some sort of seafood and he pokes at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

 

“Umi budo… which means sea grapes, I think,” Taemin answers. “It’s an Okinawa specialty.”

 

“Is it some sort of testicle?” Kibum asks, wary – the term sea grapes reminds him of mountain oysters – and sets Taemin off in a gale of laughter.

 

“No, it’s vegetarian!” Taemin waves a hand high, flagging the waitress down to ask her for clarification. She explains something that Kibum can’t understand, but Taemin must because he says “Ahh!”

 

“Wait, can you ask her if there’s wifi?”

 

“Wifi?” she repeats, as if she’s used to this question. She probably is. “Network, coralcafe. Password, 12345.”

 

Kibum thanks her as he keys in the details, cheering internally when it connects and his phone starts buzzing with incoming notifications. There are a lot of them, so he lays his phone down and picks up his chopsticks. “So, what did she say?”

 

“It’s seaweed,” Taemin replies, a little sheepish. “I thought it was actually grapes, like a species of grapes.”

 

It tastes odd. The seaweed berries burst and leak a salty fluid, reminiscent of cod roe. “It’s alright, I guess.” Kibum nibbles on it a little more; it’s not disgusting, but it would probably work better as a garnish or topping than eaten on its own. “Do you like it?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “It’s alright. It’s one of Okinawa’s specialties, so I thought you’d want to try it.”

 

Since Taemin doesn’t seem to mind the odd texture of the sea grapes, Kibum lets him have most of it as well. Despite eating less than half of the food they ordered, Kibum is full – and satisfied. It’s refreshing, having his appetite restored, in both the ordinary and the sexual sense, and he has Taemin to thank for both. Will it keep up once he returns to Seoul, Kibum wonders.

 

That’s a train of thought he doesn’t want to entertain, so he picks up his phone and scrolls through his notifications. There are hundreds of them; work emails – he can deal with them later – new posts on Insta from his friends that he should comment on lest he appears unconcerned, KKT messages in the groupchats he’s in, some from his parents asking how his holiday is going and in the middle of all of this chatter, a familiar name.

 

Chaejin.

 

 _Can you find your way around Okinawa on your own_ , he’s asked. _Let me know if you need help_ , he’s said. _I can ask my friends to take you around_ , he’s offered.

 

“Are you done?”

 

Kibum looks up from the unexpected message. “Huh?”

 

“With breakfast. Are you full?”

 

“Yeah, you?”

 

“Yep.” Taemin pushes his chair back and stands up, suddenly excited again. “Come on, let’s walk on the beach.”

 

“What?”

 

“We’re on the beach right now! The water is just there! You’re really not tempted at all?” Of course Kibum is tempted, but he’s also a responsible adult with work to do – work that he keeps putting off because of Taemin. “How can you visit Okinawa without even getting your feet wet?”

 

That is a convincing argument. It’d be like visiting Paris and missing the Eiffel tower, Kibum reasons with himself. Even if he can’t put it in his article, he’d be stupid not to take the opportunity for himself.

 

And that is how he finds himself walking along the soft white sand of the beach, listening to the crash of waves and the shrieks of seagulls, and holding his shoes in one hand and Taemin’s in the other.

 

The owner of said shoes is wading in surf, as happy as a duck. He said he was just going to get his ankles wet, but now his feet are completely submerged and the water is up to his calves, and as the next wave comes in Kibum is sure that his knees – and the bottom of his shorts – are going to get wet too.

 

Kibum himself has rolled his jeans up to his knees, but he’s avoiding the water just in case. It would be terribly shameless of him to ask to borrow trousers on top of everything else, and even if he were so shameless, he wouldn’t be able to fit into anything of Taemin’s anyway.

 

A loud yelp catches his attention. Taemin’s in waist deep now, laughing. “Oh, this part is a little deeper than the rest.”

 

As if he didn’t know that, Kibum thinks. As if this is nothing more than a ploy to play in the water.

 

But Taemin looks so happy, so radiant, that Kibum can’t be annoyed with him. How can be begrudge anyone the right to happiness, especially when it comes from something so simple and innocent as splashing around at the beach? A part of him wishes that he could be like Taemin too.

 

Cautiously, Kibum steps closer to the water, into barest waves licking their way up on the beach. The water is absolutely colourless, as clear as diamonds, and wonderfully cool. Kibum takes a small step further, letting the waves curl around his ankles. He stands in place for a while, feeling the water ebb and subside, until he’s sunk into the sand and he has to unstick his feet to move on.

 

Taemin’s now swimming in the water, wet from head to toe. He waves at Kibum as he does a belly flop, splashing water everywhere, and comes up pushing his wet hair out of his face.

 

Kibum smiles at his antics, knowing that Taemin is too preoccupied with swimming – can he really call that graceless dog paddling swimming – to catch him doing it. But as much as he’s filled with fondness for Taemin, Chaejin’s message lingers in his mind. He’s so tempted to delete the messages without replying. Let Chaejin worry about him, let him stew in misery for a while like Kibum has since they broke up.

 

But a part of him is also moved. Theirs wasn’t an easy break-up, but Chaejin still cares.

 

It is that thought that gets Kibum to take his phone out.

 

 _I’m alright_ , he replies. _The locals are nice, they’ve been guiding me around_.

 

But as soon as the messages go out, Kibum regrets sending them. He hates Chaejin for making him lie and pretend that he’s fine. He hates himself for not being fine. He hates himself for lying about Taemin. Been letting me fuck them and wear their clothes, been buying me breakfast and sake and listening to my woes about my ex, Kibum thinks bitterly. Such lovely locals, except it’s just one person and he’s not a local at all, he’s Korean like me.

 

“Hey, is everything okay?”

 

Kibum looks up to see a sopping wet Taemin standing next to him. “Huh?”

 

“You stopped walking and kind of spaced out here,” Taemin explains.

 

“Oh, I was checking my work.”

 

If the expression on Taemin’s face is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy Kibum’s explanation, but he doesn’t push it either. Instead, he points to something in the distance; a familiar house, Kibum realises. Did they really just walk back using the beach?

 

“My house is just there, and if you give me five minutes to get changed, I can drive you to the bus stop.”

 

And how can Kibum turn that convenient offer down? “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah, it’s not a problem at all. I’ll run ahead, it’s a little cold outside the water.” Taemin waves at him and jogs off.

 

Kibum stays rooted in his spot, watching Taemin’s receding back. His phone pings with another notification.

 

Chaejin’s replied.

 

 _If you can, visit the Yanbaru Kuina lookout_.

 

Yanbaru Kuina? Kibum trudges towards Taemin’s house, feeling like he has a skull full of scrambled eggs instead of brains. He was getting along just fine without Chaejin. He doesn’t need his help or recommendations and he’s tempted to just say fuck this Yanbaru nonsense.

 

If only it were so easy. Chaejin knew the focus of his article and he was the one researching their destinations. He limited himself to one recommendation and this was it. If Kibum decides not to check it out, it will be out of acrimony and spite; that’s not the sort of irrational person he wants to be. He can’t keep pestering Taemin for ideas either.

 

His mind races as he waits on the porch of Taemin’s house, circling over the same arguments again and again.

 

Despite his promise to take only five minutes to change, ten minutes go by and Taemin still hasn’t made an appearance. Kibum pulls his phone out to Google Yanbaru, but he’s too far away from the café now to still be connected to their wifi. He tries to kill time by flicking through his gallery, but it’s hard not to be conscious of the seconds ticking by. It’s almost noon; he’s already wasted half a day and has nothing to show for it except a café that doesn’t belong in his article anyway.

 

The door creaks open and out comes Taemin. Kibum’s jaw doesn’t drop, but it’s a near miss. Taemin looks like a rock star from a bygone age. He’s changed, as promised, into black jeans, a red and white shirt and a gorgeous black leather jacket. He’s got a pair of glossy black Chelsea boots on with a generous heel that Kibum falls in love with immediately. He’s blow-dried his hair too, Kibum can tell.

 

As if he’s aware of Kibum’s awe, Taemin saunters down the steps and holds up the keys in his hand. “Wait until you see the car.”

 

Kibum’s not a car person, but there’s no need to tell Taemin that. It’s clear that Taemin dressed up for him – nobody wears high-heeled boots and a leather jacket to drop someone off at the bus station – but he can’t ask to take a photo of Taemin without coming off as desperate or creepy. Why is life so hard, Kibum laments internally. “Actually, I’ve got something to ask. This bus stop that you’re dropping me off at, can I catch a bus to Yanbaru? Or do I need a different stop?”

“Yanbaru?” Taemin echoes, sounding incredulous.

 

Did he say that wrong? Kibum checks his phone, and yes, that’s what Chaejin wrote. “Yanbaru Kuina?”

 

“I know, the lookout point.” Taemin chews on his lip, looking thoughtful. “It’s… I don’t think there are buses that go to Yanbaru. It’s pretty far out of the way.”

 

“Oh.” Chaejin’s succeeded in making his life difficult once again, Kibum curses.

 

“I can take you.”

 

“What?” Kibum stares at Taemin, shocked. Didn’t he just say it was so far away that buses don’t even run there? “Why?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “I’m on break anyway, this is the sort of thing I do when I’m free. You can’t take a bus there, and even if you can even get a taxi, it’ll be super expensive. Anyway, I’ve only been to Yanbaru once, I don’t mind going again.”

 

Kibum is speechless. Taemin makes sense, but not quite. How can a person be so free of plans or agendas that they can drop everything to ferry a stranger to a far-away place? How is Taemin not afraid that he’s some sort of serial killer? In fact, how does Kibum know that Taemin isn’t one?

 

“You can pay for petrol, if you feel bad. And buy me snacks too.” Taemin tosses the keys and catches them easily. “Come on, let’s get you to Yanbaru.”

 

 

XXXXX

 

_hi everyone! finally, an update! i hope the length of the chapter makes up for the delay. as always, read, enjoy and leave me a comment telling me what you liked and what you didn't._

 

 


	3. As Much As I Love You (It Hurts and Hurts)

**As Much As I Love You (It Hurts and Hurts)**

 

As much as Kibum is not a car person, he has to admit that Taemin’s car is a damn fine car. It’s one of those old American cars, a Mustang or Chevy or something similarly hypermasculine, with a gleaming black coat of paint and a drop top so glamorous that it looks out of place in the backwaters of Okinanawa.

 

Just like its owner.

 

Kibum peers at both car and man through the various provisions stacked high against the windows of the petrol station convenience store. Taemin is leaning against the car as it fills up with petrol, staring out at nothing in particular. Kibum can’t tear his eyes away from his well-proportioned body, slender in all parts, and the way the high afternoon sun reflects off his gold-rimmed sunglasses. James Dean reborn, Kibum muses to himself. With legs that long and a face that pretty, he could be so much more than a back-up dancer.

 

As soon as the thought passes through Kibum’s head, he hates himself for thinking it, for being so shallow. Who’s to say that Taemin hadn’t considered being an actor or idol and turned such fame down in favour of dancing? Perhaps he’s happier focusing on his passion for dancing than he would be lip-synching to mass-produced, meaningless pop songs and having his freedom restricted in every which way.

 

He turns his attention back to his appointed task. He’d promised Taemin snacks, didn’t he?

 

In his little basket are a handful of those delicious cream puffs, in every flavour offered. There’s strawberry milk too, for Taemin, and some black coffee for himself. And that’s all. He’s still full from brunch, so nothing looks appealing to him.

 

A familiar jingle plays, indicating that the door has been opened, and moments later Taemin’s standing by his side and peering into his basket. “Oh, what did you get?”

 

“I don’t know,” Kibum replies. “I picked what I like, but what do you want?”

 

Taemin takes the strawberry milk out of the basket and replaces it with 2 plastic cartons of melon milk. “Have you tried this before?”

 

“No.” It’s not like there isn’t melon milk in Korea. Kibum’s just not had any because green milk looks vile and it’s all artificial flavouring anyway.

 

Taemin darts away and returns in the blink of an eye with an honest-to-goodness box of breakfast cereal, which the crams into the tiny basket. “And this one! It’s really good, you have to try it.” He flits away again, and returns to drop a couple of apples in too. “Something healthy. Ah, wait, I’ll get some biscuits.” Kibum hasn’t even moved from the spot he was in when Taemin came in; it’s like being caught in a whirlwind. Taemin returns with a pack of some banana shaped treat that Kibum’s seen before, looking a little shy. “It’s a little pricey-”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“The petrol came up to 4,000 yen.”

 

Well, that is a little expensive, but it’s still less than what Kibum would have had to pay a taxi to take him to Yanbaru; at any rate, it’s an expense he can claim, so there’s no harm if he sneaks a few snacks onto the company card on the pretext of paying for transportation costs. “Really, it’s fine. You can take more if you want.”

 

“Ah, how tempting… but I have to watch my diet anyway, so that’s all I’ll take for now.” Taemin pats his shoulder and says “I’ll get the car while you pay.”

 

And he does. Kibum slides into the passenger seat with a bag straining to hold all of the treats within thin plastic – biodegradable bags are good for the environment but they’re so flimsy – feeling the eyes of every patron of the petrol station on him. He can’t blame them; he’d have been watching too, if he were filling up the tank of a little Honda or Toyota and this beast of a car pulled in and coughed up two very attractive men. The engine rumbles as Taemin steps on the accelerator and then they’re on the road.

 

Kibum glances at Taemin, who looks so effortlessly chic with his black leather jacket and sunglasses and fashionably teased hair, and feels a surge of affection for him that’s completely unrelated to how beautiful he looks. Like this, his shell looks impenetrable, but Kibum has seen him in more intimate moments – nervously covering his dyed hair, shamelessly begging for release – and he’s seen how soft he is underneath all of the trappings that would make people assume he’s invulnerable.

 

Taemin must have noticed him staring, because he turns to him. “Hmm?”

 

“What’s at Yanbaru?”

 

“You don’t know?” Taemin huffs, amused. “Then why did you decide to go?”

 

“It was strongly recommended,” Kibum replies, leaving Chaejin’s name out of it.

 

“It’s a look-out point?” Kibum recalls Taemin saying the same thing earlier. “That’s pretty much it. Like, it’s in a national park and I saw bird-watchers there, but I don’t know whether there are special birds or anything.”

 

Is this some form of revenge, Kibum wonders. He’d assumed that Chaejin had sent him the recommendation out of concern, but is it in fact masterful trolling? Why else would Chaejin send him to some faraway look-out point?

 

“I mean, I’m not good at explaining things. It’s quite famous with the locals, the sunset view is really beautiful. You’ll love it.”

 

At the mention of sunset photos, Kibum is mollified. Sunset photos are always good; they look impressive in magazines and he can always use it as the closing part of his article. All he has to do is throw in some mention of reflections and the end of the trip and everyone will eat it up.

 

“We’ll be there for the sunset?”

 

Taemin nods. “It’s about a four-hour drive.”

 

Four hours. Not for the first time, Kibum wonders what possessed Taemin to agree to drive him to Yanbaru. He’s wasting an entire day essentially acting as Kibum’s chauffeur, and the only thing he’s asked for in compensation is some snacks? Kibum can barely make himself drive to Daegu to see his parents whom he absolutely adores, so the idea of driving for what will amount to eight hours in a day is horrifying to him.

 

“Are you sure it’s okay? This must be so inconvenient-”

 

“Ah, not at all.” Taemin waves his apologetic gratitude away easily. “Seriously, I don’t mind at all. It’s been so long since I had someone to speak to in Korean.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“It’s like… I miss sounding like an adult? I can speak Japanese fine, but I only know the basics so when I talk to people I don’t sound like myself – I mean, like there’s a lot I want to say but I have to compromise the way I say it and it limits what I can say. It’s really, really nice to actually be able to talk the way I sound to myself in my own head, you know?”

 

Taemin tends to talk fast when he’s excited, Kibum notes, feeling another surge of fondness. He does know what Taemin means, having spent some time in the States for a waterskiing competition when he was a teenager. Whilst his English was the best amongst his teammates, he still felt limited by the foreign language. “I get it.”

 

“And I guess I never knew how much I missed it, but now I kind of don’t want to stop.”

 

“Well, then, please make full use of me while I’m here,” Kibum says, not missing the innuendo in his words. “We can talk about any subject you like.”

 

*

 

“Since you work with idols, did you ever consider being one yourself?”

 

“I did actually. My friend and I were scouted when we were about 13, I think? My parents let me train with the company because they could see how much I loved dancing, but they pulled me out when the company wanted me to debut at 15. They said I was too young and that I should be done with school first.”

 

If Kibum had a child, he’s probably say the same thing. He’s not into idol culture, but it’s impossible to miss the toxicity involved; practically every day there’s a trending article on Naver about some idol’s attitude or plastic surgery or dating scandal. An adult may be able to handle it, but a 15 year old? It’ll be like throwing a child to the wolves.

 

“My friend did debut. Before he did, I was thinking that I’d beg them to take be back after I graduated, but he really suffered so much. And he became really weird too, and the stuff he’s told me about how life is like for idols made me change my mind pretty quickly. After that, I decided that I’d prefer to join a dance company instead.”

 

“Your parents were okay with that?”

 

Taemin snorts. “No. But it’s not their choice to make.”

 

*

 

“Look, the beach!”

 

Kibum peers around Taemin to see the beach he’s talking about and yes, there is a beach. The beauty of it, white sand and shimmering blue water, is as effective as any siren’s call. It’s no surprise that Okinawa is famous for its beaches; perhaps he’ll return here one day on a proper holiday and then he can enjoy the water the way Taemin so clearly wants him to.

 

“Shall we stop by for a while?”

 

“We just went! And we’ll get sand everywhere, and we don’t even have a change of clothes,” Kibum protests, incredulous. Does Taemin not have any impulse control?

 

“True.” Taemin throws another longing glance out of the window before stepping on the accelerator, as if he’s trying to outrun the temptation.

 

“You must really love it,” Kibum remarks, strangely touched by the spark that was in in Taemin’s eyes when he had glanced at the beach. He’s not jaded – at least, he doesn’t think so – but it’s been a long time since he sincerely, unabashedly, wholeheartedly loved anything. All of his emotions are lukewarm. He loves walking and fashion and food blogging, but he can’t imagine expressing his love – does he even love these things, or does he just like them? – with the same carelessness that Taemin does, because it wouldn’t be true. Is this what Chaejin meant when he said Kibum was cold? That Kibum didn’t have a heart to give to him?

 

“Don’t you?” Taemin replies. He gestures at the beach that they’re zooming past. “Doesn’t it call you?”

 

“Call?”

 

“I mean…” Taemin pauses for a while, as if he’s searching for a way to phrase his thoughts. “I like sukiyaki, but I can walk by the restaurant without feeling tempted to walk in. Or even if I’m tempted, I can just ignore it and walk away and not care after that. But with the beach, I even can’t walk by without feeling like I should be there instead. And it’s like, what happens if I never get to go back? There’s nothing I’ll regret more than not taking the chance to be in the water one last time, even though I know that the chances of it happening is super slim. Don’t you feel like that?”

 

Kibum takes time to think before he answers. Has he ever felt like that? It’s not an alien concept; pop culture is replete with stories of sailors who long for the sea and pilots who long for the sky. “I can’t say I have. I mean, I like a beach holiday as much as the next person, and I really like waterskiing, but it’s nowhere near what you described. I guess you moving away from Naha wasn’t just about the rent.”

 

Taemin smiles at that. “Rent was the official reason, but you’re right, it was more about the beach than anything else.”

 

“A lot of people get property near the beach, but-”

 

“-they never step foot on it after that?” Taemin finishes Kibum’s sentence, not with the words he would have chosen but expressing the same idea nonetheless. “I know. It’s the saddest thing. The director of my company, Rino, she bought a house not far from where I live, so when this place came up for rent I asked her whether it was worth it and she said that she hadn’t been to the beach in months.”

 

“That’s pretty normal for people who live by the beach.” Kibum thinks of his cousins, a bunch of rich kids whose father had bought a flat right by the beach in Byron Bay just for them to use for the two or three weeks that they spent there during their summer break. Kibum had visited his cousins and couldn’t tear himself away from their balcony, which had a stunning view of the bay, but his cousins could barely be bothered to glance outside.

 

“That’s what my friend said too, the one I’m renting with. He said I’d feel the same way eventually, especially on days when practice runs late and you’re too tired to even think.” Taemin glances out of the window again, at the expanse of blue speeding by, and this time there’s something deeper to the gleam in his eyes. “That’s when I promised myself that no matter what, I’d go to the beach every single day.”

 

“Is it a promise you’ve kept?”

 

“For almost a year now,” Taemin replies. “It’s not like it’s hard. It’s fun, I want to go. And even when I tell myself that I’ll just walk on the sand, I can never resist just getting my feet wet, and then it’s hard resisting getting my knees wet and before I know it I’m all wet.”

 

Kibum laughs at that, drawing a giggle out of Taemin too. “Okay, I get it. Maybe you were a fish in your last life.”

 

“Sometimes I feel like I was.” Taemin’s smile falls away, turning into something wistful. “I’d like to be a dolphin in my next life.”

 

Kibum wonders if dolphins ever wished they were jellyfish, if jellyfish ever wished to be algae, or if it was just humans who go through life wishing to be something less sentient. Is it just humans who feel weary of life? “I can see you as a dolphin,” Kibum remarks, hoping to bring lightness back to the conversation. “Nice to look at but annoying, totally fits.”

 

“I’m not annoying!” Taemin fakes offence, eyes comically wide. “Wow, I’m like a… a guardian angel, if it weren’t for me you’d be stuck in a fish market somewhere writing an article about shellfish.”

 

“Alright, okay, you’re a gem,” Kibum says, admitting defeat. He pats Taemin’s cheek, which is so soft and chubby under his hand that he can’t resist pinching it, and thanks his lucky stars once more that their paths crossed yesterday. If Taemin really wants to be a dolphin in his next life, Kibum hopes he gets what he wishes for.

 

*

 

“Do you have any pets?”

 

Oh how cute, Kibum thinks to himself. Even elementary school students don’t ask this question. Was this the best Taemin could come up with to revive their conversation which had ebbed into silence? “Not right now. You?”

 

“Two dogs.” Taemin’s smile is soft; he must be picturing them. Kibum’s heart, that treacherous thing, beats a rhythm of fondness, of affection, of longing. “Their names are Adam and Eve, but I got Eve first, on Christmas Eve that’s why his name is Eve.”

 

“They’re in Korea?”

 

Taemin nods. “With my parents.”

 

“I suppose touring with idols doesn’t make it easy for you to have a pet here, even if your landlord allows it.” Kibum kept a guinea pig once, when he had just moved to Seoul and was lonely as hell, but his landlord discovered it about 4 months in and demanded that he get rid of the ‘orange rat’ or be thrown out the very next day. Kibum took the train back to Daegu to leave Geumja in the care of his grandmother and wept on the way back, cursing the inhumanity of the rentier class. For a long time after that, Kibum gave up the idea of having pets.

 

Until recently.

 

“I nearly got a dog with Chaejin.” Taemin turns to look at him, but Kibum avoids his eyes as he picks at his fingernails.

 

“You said something about him not liking small dogs.”

 

He did, didn’t he, back when Taemin invited him to trash talk Chaejin over cheap sake; an invitation Kibum was reluctant to accept because it would be awkward to vent to a stranger. It was just last night, but somehow it feels like an entire year has passed since then.

 

“We even visited a friend of mine whose dog had puppies.” The memory of that disastrous visit springs to mind. They had travelled to Busan for a short holiday and stayed with a friend whose Akita had had puppies. Despite having had arguments with Chaejin about how their flat wasn’t suited for large dogs, Kibum had fallen head over heels in love with those pups. He woke up ridiculously early the morning after they arrived just so that he could have some time alone with the pups, to cradle them to his chest and coo at them as if he was the one who gave birth to them. “She offered to let me have one. I was so excited, you know? It was perfect. We knew the pups hadn’t come from a puppy mill, it was a big dog like Chaejin wanted and the timing was just right.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Chaejin said…” Kibum trails off as he recalls Chaejin’s sharp words, muttered under his breath when he found Kibum with the pups. It still hurts. “He said ‘it looks like I’ll soon be eating scraps even in my own house.’”

 

Taemin frowns. “I don’t get it.”

 

“He felt that I loved the puppy more than him, that if we took one home I’d prioritise it over him.”

 

The look on Taemin’s face mirrors the uneasiness that crept up Kibum’s spine when he realised how Chaejin was jealous of a dog they hadn’t even adopted yet. “Wow.” He pauses for a bit. “I mean, I know you’re unhappy that you broke up, but it’s really for the best.”

 

“He wasn’t perfect,” Kibum acknowledges. “But neither was I.”

 

*

 

“Do you want a snack?”

 

“Oh, I forgot about the snacks!” Taemin looks away from the road – which is pretty empty anyway – and tries to look into the bag that Kibum’s got on his lap. “What did we get again?”

 

“Uhm… apples? Chocolate cereal. There’s the cream-”

 

“The cereal is good.”

 

What weird taste Taemin has, Kibum thinks as he pries the cardboard box open. He helps himself to a bit, and just as he suspected, it’s nothing extraordinary; rather, it’s the sort of taste one outgrows around middle school. He offers the box to Taemin, who grabs a fistful and crams it into his mouth.

 

He makes a sound.

 

“Huh?”

 

Taemin makes that sound again, and Kibum gets that he’s trying to say something, but he can’t for the life of him decipher what it is. “Yah, chew and swallow first. Hasn’t anyone taught you not to talk with your mouth full?”

 

“Milk,” is all Taemin has to say to that, though that cheeky glint in his eye makes it impossible for Kibum to be annoyed for too long.

 

There’s only melon milk in the bag. Kibum holds it up. “This one?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Just the thought of chocolate cereal and green milk kills Kibum’s appetite. He pokes the straw into the lid and hands it to Taemin, who grabs another handful of cereal and washes it down with the milk. “Doesn’t it taste weird?” Kibum asks, regretting his question right away since Taemin starts talking with his mouth full again.

 

“No, it’s good. You should try it.”

 

“I’ll pass.” His eyes have fallen on the cream puffs, those ridiculously delicious calorie-bombs that he never knew he needed in his life until last night. With building excitement, he unwraps one for himself and holds it up for a close examination. How unassuming it looks, how deceptively plain. Could this really be as delicious as he thought it was last night? He takes an experimental bite.

 

It is divine. Sweet, stiff cream, tasting so cleanly of milk, encased in that airy pastry shell; bless the person who made this delicious thing, and bless the people who decided to price it affordably and sell it in convenience stores.

 

Taemin’s laughter breaks Kibum from his state of worship. “You’re cute,” he says, when Kibum raises an eyebrow in askance. Being called cute by someone younger would usually embarrass Kibum, but there’s only affection in Taemin’s eyes. “Can I have a bite?”

 

Feeling a little cheeky himself, Kibum dips a finger right into the cream, drags up a dollop and holds it out. Taemin ducks, thinking that Kibum is going to smear it on him, but that’s not Kibum’s intention at all. He holds his finger in the air until Taemin overcomes his suspicion. “Come get it.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Aigoo, do I have to show you?” Kibum licks the cream off his finger, smearing it over his flat tongue before closing his lips around his finger and sucking the rest off. Taemin’s eyes are dark and heavy, half-lidded because of just one gesture. Kibum takes another swipe of cream, moving slowly and deliberately, watching the way Taemin’s eyes flick between his hands and the road.

 

This time, when he holds his cream-smeared finger out, Taemin is ready to react. He leans in to lick it-

 

-and Kibum quickly wipes it off on his cheek.

 

“Hey!”

 

The puzzlement on Taemin’s face, like a puppy whose ball has been thrown out of its sight, is hilarious and Kibum falls against the door laughing. He laughs until tears leak out of the corners of his eyes; hearteningly, Taemin laughs along with him once he gets over his initial confusion.

 

“My cheek is sticky,” Taemin says with a pout.

 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Kibum quips, but he already knows what he wants to do. Taemin pouts again and goes to wipe it off, and that’s when Kibum catches his hand and kisses the cream off instead. “Mmm, sweet.”

 

Taemin’s cheeks are faintly pink as he says “You’re so cheesy.”

 

Kibum racks his brain for a cheesy reply just to prove Taemin right when something splats right on the windshield. Taemin startles, instinctively jerking the wheel-

 

-the car swerves to the side-

 

-cereal and milk spill everywhere-

 

-Kibum is pretty sure he’s going to die like this.

 

It passes in a second. Taemin stomps on the brakes and they come to a screeching halt across the road, which is thankfully empty.

 

Heart racing, hands shaking.

 

Another splat.

 

It’s a water droplet. And another one, and another, until it becomes a steady patter against the windshield and windows.

 

They nearly died because of _rain_.

 

Laughter bubbles up in Kibum’s throat and escapes, but it sounds rather hysterical even to himself. Taemin swears, first under his breath then louder, and brushes cereal off his t-shirt. There’s cereal all over the seats and spots of milk on the dashboard. Kibum’s half-eaten cream puff is squashed beyond recognition in his hand, the delicate pastry unable to survive being squeezed like a stress ball.

 

“My landlord is going to kill me.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“It’s his car.” Taemin huffs, adding “He gets annoyed when you breathe on it, and now there’s milk everywhere.”

 

“Green milk.” Kibum doesn’t know what prompted him to say that, but it sets him off into a fit of giggling. Taemin raises an eyebrow at his mirth, but the corners of his mouth lift into a smile too.

 

*

 

The rain doesn’t let up. The sky which was sunny earlier despite the rain is now dark grey and ominous, promising more rain and possibly thunder and lightning in the near future. It’s a good thing that there aren’t many other cars on the road, Kibum thinks, otherwise they’d be caught in traffic. As it is, Taemin has slowed the car down to a reasonable 80 km/h and has declined offers of snacks, despite Kibum’s reassurance that he will not be pulling any tricks anytime soon.

 

“What if it’s still raining when we reach Yanbaru?”

 

That’s precisely the issue that Kibum has been trying not to think about. The truthful answer is that they would have wasted an entire day and Kibum will be in trouble with his boss, though not unsalvageably so, but he feels awful telling Taemin that all the effort he’s put into helping Kibum will come to nothing. “I might still be able to take good pictures in the rain.”

 

“Really?”

 

“It’s not ideal, of course, but it’s better than nothing.”

 

“It’s strange,” Taemin taps the brakes as an oncoming car splashes water over the windshield, temporarily blinding them. “I’ve never seen it rain like this at this time of the year.”

 

“My luck isn’t the best lately.”

 

Almost as if saying the words is a jinx, the rain starts coming down heavier right then. It batters the old car furiously, as if each droplet is a bullet trying to tear down a tank. The lightning that Kibum had classified as imminent earlier now flashes through the sky, which has turned from dark grey to storm purple. It’s noon, but it looks like midnight.

 

Thunder booms.

 

*

 

Taemin is ashen-faced. He’s got the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as the wipers work overtime in futility; Kibum’s eyesight isn’t the best without his glasses, so he hopes that Taemin can see more than torrential rain that fills his vision. Kibum has his hand on Taemin’s thigh, not as a method of flirtation but to anchor them both.

 

Lightning tears through the sky again. Taemin slows the already crawling car down even more and presses the button for the hazard lights.

 

“Are you stopping the car?”

 

“I can’t see anything,” Taemin replies. “And like, I don’t think other cars can see us with the normal lights.”

 

So Taemin can’t see either. That would explain why they’re trundling along instead of trying to outrun the storm, but adding to their bad luck is the fact that the road that they’re on is pretty much just a road. They haven’t passed a single building since it started raining; on a sunny day, the combination of greenery and seascape would have been a view to cherish, but now it just adds to the danger they’re in. It’s dangerous to continue driving when they literally can’t even see the road in front of them but it’s just as dangerous to stop on the curb when they’re likely to be invisible to other vehicles.

 

“Good thinking,” Kibum says, because they could both use a little positivity. “Maybe we’ll pass by a lookout point or petrol station soon. It’s been ages since the last one, right?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t think of that.” Taemin’s glum face brightens a little. “If it’s a petrol station, we can have lunch and by then the rain shouldn’t be so heavy. As long as I can see, I don’t mind driving. It’ll be sad if you miss the view.”

 

Not at all, Kibum thinks, though he keeps the thought to himself. Even if he has nothing to take back and he gets into trouble for it, Kibum could never think of this trip as a waste, not when it’s the first step towards healing the pain that his break up inflicted on him. He could never think of this trip as a waste because he would never have met Taemin otherwise.

 

*

 

In the end, it’s not a lookout point or petrol station that turns up on their route but a motel. Kibum is the one who spots its first, it’s faded beige walls slowly becoming visible through the rain like a beluga whale surfacing from the deep sea.

 

“Yah, Taemin-ah, what’s that?”

 

“Oh, I see it!” Taemin flicks the indicator on – though there are no other cars on the road and if there were, they wouldn’t be able to see the faint lights of the indicators anyway – whilst Kibum is still trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

 

What is it?”

 

“A motel.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, can you see the sign? The neon one.”

 

Kibum can make out pink and red neon lighting, but they look like a blur of unrecognisable shapes than words. No matter, he’s happy enough that his prayers have been answered and there’s somewhere for them to shelter out of the storm. Closer now, he can see the shape of the motel, its façade dotted with windows, and the parking lot in front.

 

There are a few other cars parked there, but the ground is covered in water now so he can’t make out the lines of each parking spot. Taemin doesn’t seem to care as he pulls the car up in a corner and kills the engine. “Whew, that’s lucky. So… do we go inside?”

 

Do they need a room? Does the motel have a restaurant or café where they can get lunch? Kibum doesn’t know the answers to these questions, but he wants to get out of the car for now. “Yeah.”

 

“Ummm, let’s see whether I have an umbrella.”

 

“There isn’t one.” The car is pristine except for the mess they brought into it and there’s nothing in the backseat. He can’t blame Taemin; apparently this sort of storm is unusual and Kibum’s not the sort who likes to tote an umbrella around either. “It’s okay, it’s not far.”

 

Getting wet will be an inconvenience, since Kibum doesn’t even have a change of clothes, but he’s not the sort of person to kick a fuss about inevitable things; like his grandmother said, best just to grit one’s teeth and get the needful done. He checks that his electronics are safely stowed in his bag and that his bag is properly closed, and mentally prepares himself to make a run. “Shall we?”

 

Taemin nods.

 

Kibum opens the door. The roar of rain is so loud outside of the vacuum of the car and the air is biting, fiercely cold. Water droplets sting his face and whip his body; he can hear Taemin saying something, but can’t make the words out. He slams the car door shut and runs across the parking lot, grimacing as his socks and feet sponge up the water pooling on the flat tarmac of the parking lot and holding his bag close to himself. Thunder booms above him, and Kibum thinks ‘fuck you’; the entrance is just there.

 

There is a short awning above the front doors and that is where Kibum stops, to catch his breath and to wait for Taemin-

 

-who is nowhere in sight. He should have been just behind Kibum, but there is no sign of him. Startled, Kibum peers out into the rainy parking lot; is he still in the car? Did he trip and fall somewhere out of sight?

 

“Taemin!” Kibum calls out for him, even though he’s skeptical about the point of shouting into a raging storm. “Taemin-ah!”

 

“I’m here,” answers a voice behind him.

 

Kibum startles yet again, and turns to see a relatively dry Taemin standing in the shade of the awning, amusement written all over his face. It’s so surreal that Kibum wonders whether he’s hallucinating.

 

“I was trying to tell you to walk along the building,” Taemin says then, pointing out into the parking lot. Kibum has no idea what he’s pointing at until he spots the awning running along the side of the building, where the other cars are parked and in the distance, Taemin’s car too. “But you ran so fast.”

 

What an idiot he is.

 

Taemin stifles his humour, unsuccessfully, as he opens the door. “Let’s go inside.”

 

Kibum steps through the open door, feeling unspeakably silly. He also feels the chill now that the adrenaline has worn off. Would it be tempting his capricious luck if he were to hope that there are rooms available, so that he can dry off?

 

The reception lounge is small – as is practically everything in Japan – and behind the tired-looking Formica reception desk is a tired-looking middle-aged man; his eyes narrow at Kibum as he tracks water into the lounge and leaves puddles of water in his wake, and if Kibum were a betting man, he’d bet that even if there were rooms available, this man probably wouldn’t let him have one.

 

Luckily, Taemin – dry, not-dripping Taemin – is there to deal with him. Kibum hangs back as he talks to the man in Japanese. The motel looks old and very American in style and decoration, from the almost offensive beige-ness of the walls to the kitschy light fixtures. Perhaps it was built to cater to the Americans based here at a time when there were more of them.

 

A tap on his shoulder, which squelches with how waterlogged his hoodie is, pulls Kibum from his musing about the décor. “Come on, we’ve got a room.”

 

The receptionist glares at Kibum as he follows Taemin out of the lounge and down a hallway. Kibum can’t blame him; if he were a receptionist, he too would glare at the person who left him puddles to mop up because he was too stupid to use a covered walkway. And when he sees the room that they’ve been given, Kibum snorts a laugh. There is no doubt at all that the receptionist is angry with them. He’s given them Room 004.

 

The room, like the rest of the motel, is small and clean, but dingy with age nonetheless. Taemin jumps on the bed, arms and legs akimbo, as if he’s a kid. It’s a sharp turn from how stressed he looked earlier that Kibum swallows his comment about how likely it is that the bed is as old as everything else in this motel and consequently, how likely it is to break if Taemin were to continue bouncing in it.

 

“I’m going to hop in the shower,” Kibum says instead as he makes a beeline for the bathroom, where either a hot shower or a hot bath awaits. He’s soaked down to his underwear and it feels like even his bones are wet.

 

“Sure.”

 

The bathroom is tiled in pale green, whilst the fixtures – the toilet, the bathtub and the sink – are the ugliest shade of olive green that Kibum’s eyes have ever seen. The shock of colour is almost offensive after the blandness of the rest of the motel and somehow, still fitting.

 

He lets the water run as he strips, humming as he wrings rainwater out of the wet clothes and hangs them over various surfaces so that they’ll dry quicker. The tub is only half-full but it’s enough to pull a bone-deep sigh from Kibum as he sinks into the hot water. Hot water is something he takes for granted most of the time, but in this moment, it feels like a gift.

 

All day long, he’s been stressed about this thing or that; about finding things to put in his article, about causing so much trouble for Taemin and taking him out of his way, but right now, he reached a point where he doesn’t care. Sitting in this ugly green tub in this dingy motel, listening to the wind howl outside as if the sky is angry that it has been thwarted in its attempt to drown him, feels like he’s luxuriating in the hot springs of Gora Kadan.

 

If Taemin’s love is the sea, then Kibum’s is the rain. Sure, it isn’t fun to be caught in traffic or to have to lug an umbrella around, but there’s little he loves more than to sit on the balcony with a hot cup of coffee and breathe the electric smell of water and lightning. Coming a close second is soaking in hot water when it’s cold outside. All that’s missing is a bath bomb, a glass of his favourite Bordeaux and his rainy day playlist piping out of waterproof speakers. When was the last time he indulged in a soak, Kibum wonders. Chaejin always hated the rain so Kibum tried not to rub his enjoyment of it in his face and somewhere along the road he’d forgotten how to appreciate it too.

 

Kibum lounges in his little haven for a long time, until the hot water becomes lukewarm, before he remembers with a jolt that he isn’t alone. How rude he must seem to Taemin, to say that he’s popping into the bathroom for a shower and to disappear for so long. It may even seem as if he’s avoiding Taemin by hiding in the bathroom, when he’s most certainly not doing anything of the sort.

 

As he’s fretting about his manners, Kibum’s mind helpfully supplies him an image of Taemin; of blonde hair bathed in sunlight, of sleep-heavy eyes and lips still fat and pink from a night of kisses. In the morning, Kibum found the sight reverently beautiful, but as a memory, it is erotic. A shiver runs up his spine and his cock twitches to life.

 

How convenient that they’re stuck in this motel room with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

 

Eyes falling shut, hand travelling south; Kibum gives in to the fantasy and allows it to fuel his dormant arousal. He can still taste the strawberry sweetness of Taemin’s lips and feel the heat, the sensation of being inside him. Like the first sip of wine after a period of teetotality, the little bit of Taemin that he got to have last night has done nothing to satisfy his hunger but only intensified it. And yet, even as he fondles himself to hardness by replaying the highlights of the night, Kibum realises that he’s hungry for something a little different this time.

 

Begrudgingly, he cracks his eyes open – replacing the playback with the sight of hideous green – and surveys the toiletries the motel has provided. The only thing within easy reach is the soap, tucked in a crevice by the tub, so he unwraps it and lathers his fingers up.

 

This time, he reaches down to a different place. It’s been so long, Kibum thinks, first with anticipation and, just a moment later, with concern when he meets more resistance than he anticipated for just one finger. Has it really been that long? Kibum tries to relax and palms his cock with his other hand as he adjusts to the penetration. As soon as it’s bearable, he works a second finger in; his budding erection flags, but Kibum ignores the discomfort. Taemin has a decently-sized, pretty pink cock and there’s no way he’s leaving the country without sitting on it first.

 

Even though he hurries through preparation, the water goes cold by the time Kibum can fit three fingers inside himself and the rain sounds a little lighter too. Kibum pulls the plug to drain the tub, squeezes his wet clothing to see if they’ve dried somewhat – they have – and checks himself out in the foggy mirror.

 

The image he finds isn’t too bad. His hair looks good like this, wet and pushed back over his forehead. The collar of lovebites Taemin left around his neck stands out against his fair skin; it’s a stark sight, but not as ugly as he found it to be last night. Perhaps his judgment is a little off because he’s horny.

 

Kibum almost walks out naked and half-erect, but stops just before he opens the door. He doesn’t really know Taemin well enough to be assuming that he’d be up for sexual things just because Kibum is. He seemed receptive enough in the car, before the storm, but it’s still better to give him some room to consider the idea instead of coming off as some sort of pervert.

 

No nudity, no wet clothes – Kibum’s only other option is the white terrycloth bathrobes hanging on the back of the bathroom door. He slips one on and checks himself in the mirror again. How does one make a bathrobe sexy? Kibum tugs at the robe dejectedly and takes a second look at himself. Just think, he tells himself, if you were given an assignment to photograph models in bathrobes and you were asked to make it sexy, how would you do it? And just like that, he gets so many ideas, each one popping into his brain quicker than the last, that it feels stupid to have needed to ask in the first place.

 

First, to show some skin. He ties the robe low and leaves a long strip of chest visible; he pulls the collar wide so that every mark Taemin left on his neck and collarbones is visible.

 

Second, not to show but to hint. Kibum pulls his robe tight over his crotch; his erection, half-hard, makes a noticeable bulge in the front of the robe. It feels a bit cabaret, if he were to be honest, but hey, it’s not everyday that he tries to seduce someone in a bathrobe.

 

Finally, as a finishing touch, Kibum tousles his hair just a wee bit and lets a strand curl over his forehead.

 

Satisfied, he steps out of the bathroom.

 

The room smells of smoke, specifically, of the menthol cigarettes Taemin smokes. The culprit himself is sitting cross-legged on the bed, munching on an apple and flicking through the channels on a TV that looks far older than the brick of a remote that it’s responding to. Having shed his leather jacket and swagger, he looks younger and unguarded; Kibum can’t quite put his finger on but there’s something about Taemin in these private moments makes him strangely protective. It’s a duality Kibum has observed in Taemin in the little time he’s known him and he wonders how people closer to him deal with it. 

 

“What are you watching?”

 

Taemin barely glances over, so engrossed is he in whatever’s playing. “There’s the news on the other channel, but this one’s a documentary about like, old Japanese houses? How they were built and stuff.” He takes another bite of his apple. “Did you have a good shower? You were in there for a long time.”

 

Kibum leans against the doorframe in a manner he hopes is seductive. “It was alright. Where’d you get the apple from?”

 

“We bought it?” Taemin peels his eyes away from his terribly fascinating engineering documentary to gesture at a familiar green plastic bag on the nightstand. “I got it from the car while you were showering. Your cream puffs are in there and… coffee? Cereal?”

 

It’s hopeless. Kibum abandons his strategy of seduction and goes for the straightforward approach. “I want apple.”

 

“There’s a few more, I just took one.”

 

“No, I want this one.”

 

Finally, Taemin looks away from the TV and at him, with that cute little furrow between his brows that pops up whenever he’s confused. Kibum stalks over to him, watching the way Taemin’s eyes rake over him from head to toe and back up again. Now, finally, Taemin gets the idea. Kibum waits for him, leaving the ball in his court; if he’s not in the mood, all he has to do is deny him, or ignore him, or pretend to misunderstand what Kibum wants.

 

“Take it, then.” Taemin looks right into Kibum’s eyes as he takes a bite of the apple, smoldering as though someone flipped a switch in him, and holds the piece between his teeth. Kibum is trapped in his gaze, the hunter now hunted. It’s a religious experience, a biblical scene come to life; the tempter and the forbidden apple, the enticement to sin. 

 

How fun, to find someone who’s so capable of matching him in his own game. Kibum doesn’t break their eye contact as he sits on the bed next to Taemin, as he places a possessive hand on his knee, and not even as he leans in to close his mouth around the offered piece of apple. It breaks in half between them and they munch on their respective bits, still maintaining their connection. It is a pause in their game, a moment of quiet that only adds to the building excitement.

 

Taemin is the first to break. He swallows with a large gulp and, without even stopping to breathe, mashes his lips against Kibum’s and holds him in place with a hand gripping the hair at the back of his head.

 

With mouths sticky with apple juice, they kiss.

 

Kibum tugs on the belt of his bathrobe, allowing it to fall open, before swinging a leg across Taemin’s lap, straddling him. “You’re a little overdressed, babe. Let me help.” He starts unbuttoning the first button of Taemin’s shirt, but Taemin just yanks it over his head and tosses it aside, clearly impatient. Amused, Kibum pops the button of his jeans next, but Taemin suddenly says “Ah.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“It’s just… you’ll laugh at my underwear again.”

 

And Kibum knows he should say no if he doesn’t want to kill the mood, but he’s never been a liar. “You’re so cute,” he says instead, only to get a pout from Taemin.

 

“I didn’t know we were going to end up in bed again. I thought I was just dropping you off.”

 

“Aigooo,” Kibum coos. He can’t be too mean, not now that he’s been reminded of how much Taemin has helped him today. “Fine, I’ll get the condoms and lube and you can undress behind my back, huh?”

 

“Deal.”

 

Kibum climbs off Taemin’s lap and shrugs his robe off, uncaring about his nudity and his imperfections. Taemin has seen it all and he still wants him, so he has no reason to hide the stretch marks on his lower back and thighs or the little rolls that form on his stomach when he bends down to dig through his bag for the condoms and lube. How lucky that he decided to take Taemin’s advice and raid the bowl at the love motel. The familiar blue packet of lube is easy to identify by now and the condom that turns up is one in a red packet – strawberry-flavoured, if he remembers Taemin correctly.

 

“Your skin bruises easily,” Taemin says then. He’s lounging on the bed, on his stomach with his feet in the air, and Kibum has no idea how long Taemin has been watching – observing – him. It makes him slightly self-conscious. “

 

Don’t chew on me then.”

 

“Nehhh~” Taemin singsongs, rolling over obligingly as Kibum climbs returns to the bed.

 

It’s so natural, the way their mouths and bodies find their places and slot together as if they’re two halves of a whole. Kibum holds himself over Taemin as their lips and tongues reacquaint, and Taemin’s hands resume their feather-light exploration of his back and shoulders. Kissing Taemin is an indulgence that Kibum wishes he can bottle and bring back to Seoul to treat himself with whenever he wants. Sweet and cheeky and just a little bit of a tease, that’s the way Taemin kisses.

 

Lowering his hips, their growing arousals brush together; Kibum gets goosebumps and Taemin bucks up, querulous.

 

“Yah, slow down.”

 

The admonishment gets him a pout – which is slowly growing to be his favourite expression on that pretty face – and a petulant whine. “Don’t make me beg again. You can just fuck me, I won’t break.”

 

Kibum hums quietly, detaching himself from Taemin’s lips to nibble on his earlobe and tug the little silver hoop there. “Why don’t you fuck me instead?”

 

Taemin whips his head around to look Kibum in the eyes, as if Kibum has said something completely unexpected. Then again, perhaps it was. “Really?”

 

“If you want to.”

 

This time, Taemin’s answer is quick. “Yeah, of course I want to, so much-”

 

“Cool.” Kibum pushes himself up, still straddling Taemin, and hands him the condom. “Put this on.”

 

Taemin smiles as he recognises the familiar packaging of the condom. “Oh, you took some.”

 

“Good thing I did, right?” Kibum fiddles with the lube, tearing a small opening so that it doesn’t spill, and squeezes a sufficient helping and then some more. Taemin says nothing, but his eyes are watching Kibum instead of the condom he’s supposed to be wearing, as if Kibum is so fascinating that he can’t bear to look away even for a second. The attention makes Kibum shy, but it is also a balm for his bruised ego.

 

As Taemin watches, he brings his wet fingers to his already stretched entrance and experimentally touches two to his rim; to his relief, he can take them both with minimal discomfort. He pushes his fingers in as far as he can without hurting his wrist, spreading lube in preparation for something wider and longer than just fingers. It starts to feel good too; a small grunt slips past when he scissors his fingers it feels better than he expected. Carefully, he adds a third finger, wincing a little as the stretch veers into discomfort once more. Kibum tries to breathe through it, but he can’t feel feeling frustrated at the way his body fails to cooperate with him.

 

A hand pats his thigh. Kibum opens his eyes – when had he even closed them? – to see Taemin; he’s almost forgotten that he’s on top of him, that Taemin has had a front row seat to the way he’s been straining and grunting. Why did he even think it was a good idea to prep himself here when he could have done it in the bathroom? He’s agonising over his unfortunate decisions when Taemin starts stroking his thigh, surprising him to the extent that he stops being angry with himself.

 

“Slow down,” Taemin says. “We have time.” His arousal, duly wrapped, is still erect where it lays against his crotch. Whatever his thoughts of Kibum’s ungraceful preparation, at the very least he’s not completely turned off.

 

Kibum applies more lube to his fingers and, slower this time, he inserts three fingers only as far as his body is willing to open up. Taemin keeps his hand on his thigh as Kibum rides his fingers, and his eyes are soft, concerned.

 

Silly, sentimental bastard, Kibum thinks, with the sort of affection that’s usually reserved for baby animals.

 

It works too. He’s taking all three fingers in deep now and the sensation has shifted from disagreeable to pleasing. He’s right on the edge of wanting more. “Come on, swap with me.”

 

Taemin quickly moves, giving Kibum space to lie down on the bed. The sheets and pillows are warm from where Taemin has been lying on it and Kibum wriggles a little to get comfortable. Taemin waits for him, waits until he relaxes before making a space for himself between Kibum’s legs.

 

“Hey,” he says.

 

It’s new, seeing Taemin from this perspective. Rather unexpectedly, Kibum feels trapped. For the longest time, the only one who could see him like this – to have him in this position – was Chaejin. If he wants to, he can picture exactly how Chaejin would look – used to look – down on Kibum with such warmth and tenderness. He had always assumed that he only liked being in control, but it was only with Chaejin that he had felt safe enough to relinquish that control. It was Chaejin that taught him to enjoy being taken care of.

 

“What do you mean ‘hey’?” Kibum grouses, hiding his uneasiness with banter. “Do you think I have a giraffe neck or something, that I can kiss you when you’re so far away?”

 

Taemin obliges instantly, dipping down to connect their mouths and then draping his entire body over Kibum. Their arousals slide together, trapped between their bodies, similar to the way their tongues jostle for space and attention between them. It’s dirty and carnal in all the best ways. The weight of Taemin’s erection on his stomach, the rubbery slide of the condom against his skin, drives Kibum spare; he feels achingly empty all of a sudden, needing to be filled the way he needs air to breathe.

 

“Don’t tease me,” he grumbles against Taemin’s lips, spreading his legs wider to make clear exactly what he wants. “C’mon.”

 

Taemin nips his lip. “You tortured me last night. I had to beg-”

 

“Hyung privilege,” Kibum replies. “You have to listen to me.”

 

“You mean ahjussi privilege, right?” Taemin retorts. “I’ll get right to it, ahjussi.”

 

Kibum laughs. Taemin is so cute even when he’s affronted. “Come on, darling, please fuck me,” he says sweetly, and is rewarded with a rosy blush instantly colouring Taemin’s face. “Is that flattering enough for you, my gorgeous Taeminnie?”

 

“Just shut up,” Taemin grouses, still blushing. He places a quick kiss against Kibum’s lips before taking himself in one hand and lining his cock up against Kibum’s entrance. Kibum spreads his legs; he can feel the blunt, rubbery head pressing against his rim, the barest pressure, and his heart starts racing in anticipation -

 

\- Taemin pushes in, breaching his entrance, and Kibum’s entire body feels alight. His breath is caught in his throat as he’s speared open, as Taemin’s cock stretches his insides and holds them open, unyielding and burning as it pushes itself into spaces within him that haven’t been touched in a long time -

 

\- until Taemin’s thighs meet the flesh of his backside and Taemin is looking down at him.

 

Kibum feels full, so full that he can’t breathe or think. His whole body is afire, aching around the intrusion, and he’s teetering on the edge of feeling overwhelmed. As much as he wanted – wants – this, it suddenly feels like too much, too soon.

 

“Oh,” Taemin says.

 

“What?”

 

“You have a… a different eyebrow.”

 

Of all of the things Kibum might expect to hear from someone who’s buried balls deep in him, this particular statement is pretty far removed from the list. And even if he can get over the weirdness of discussing his eyebrow in the middle of sex, what the fuck does Taemin mean by different? “Different?”

 

“Here.” Taemin touches his right eyebrow, in the hairless slit at its tail end, and Kibum understands.

 

“That’s a scar,” he explains, pausing to breathe before continuing. “I’ve had it for ages. A flower pot fell on my head.”

 

“It looks cool,” Taemin says. “I thought maybe you shaved it.” He shifts a little and Kibum’s tender insides become electric once more, but less aggravatingly so; he’s getting used to it. The banal yet unusual question – as out of place as it seemed – probably helped him relax.

 

Did Taemin pick up on his discomfort or was it just a happy coincidence? Whatever the reason, Kibum feels a touch of warmth for him. He reaches up to run a hand through Taemin’s hair. “Come closer, I want to kiss you.”

 

The way Taemin’s face lights up at this demand makes Kibum’s heart ache, but he has no time to wonder why. He keeps his fingers in Taemin’s hair as he licks into his mouth, gripping the soft strands tightly as Taemin’s small movements jostle his body. The sensation is no longer overwhelming, as it seems that his body has re-acclimated itself to being penetrated.

 

When they break apart for air, Taemin nips the curve of his jaw and starts planting a trail of kisses that lead down his neck. There is a warning on the tip of Kibum’s tongue, but he bites it back on the realisation that Taemin hasn’t once bitten him – or sucked a lovebite – anywhere this time. Indeed, his lips are no harsher than the beating of a butterfly’s wings against the sorest parts of Kibum’s neck.

 

Again, Kibum feels like he’s misjudged the depths of Taemin’s character. Based on their dalliances last night, he’d have classified Taemin as a playful lover, an adventurous one, even experienced, but not especially considerate or sensitive. And yet, it seems that he is – in that quiet, understated way of his that is such a contrast to what Kibum is used to.

 

To stave off the sentimentality creeping into his emotions, Kibum ruffles the short hairs at the base of Taemin’s head and says “Hey, what are you waiting for?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

Kibum bucks his hips lightly, showing Taemin rather than telling him. “Move.”

 

“You’re okay?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Taemin shifts slightly as he stabilises himself and Kibum braces himself for the inevitable pull-out and thrust in, but he’s not at all prepared for the way Taemin rolls his hips whilst still buried in him. It’s not something he’s ever experienced before, the way that smooth movement presses Taemin’s cock against his walls as if he’s trying to hollow Kibum out. A gasp tears out of him; Taemin smirks at the sound, smug, as if he’s especially proud of the way he’s taking Kibum apart.

 

With each roll of his hips, from angles Kibum never even knew the human body could be wrangled into, Taemin reaches into a new place inside him. It’s not something he can anticipate or prepare for, nor can he hold back the sounds Taemin rips from him.

 

Slowly, expertly, Taemin wrecks him far more thoroughly with his gentle fucking than anyone ever has. Kibum’s erection is turgid, weeping pre-cum onto his lower belly, but the pace is both too much and not enough; he can’t quite reach an orgasm like this.

 

Taemin’s making small sounds now, though he sounds far less out of control than Kibum. The muscles in his shoulders and arms stand out, corded with the strain of holding himself up. “You feel so good,” he mumbles, and Kibum has no idea how true that statement is because he doesn’t feel like he’s contributing anything at all.

 

Is Taemin close to climax? How long has it been? Kibum feels desperate for release, but he’s not going to beg and he doesn’t want to come across as pathetic by jerking himself too soon, but every moment that passes by feels like an eternity.

 

Just as he’s about to swallow his pride and ask – beg – Taemin to let him cum, Taemin abruptly stops moving. His face is flushed, his hair sweaty. A fine tremor shakes his arms.

 

“Don’t stop,” Kibum urges desperately, not wanting his climax to ebb away. “Yah.”

 

Taemin shakes his head. “I’m too close.”

 

“Me too,” Kibum replies. “I’m close too, so don’t stop.”

 

Taemin takes a deep breath and, for the first time, pulls out until the head of his erection is tugging against Kibum’s rim. With a snap of his hips, he drives back in, stealing the breath from Kibum’s lungs and ripping a loud cry out of him.

 

This is familiar territory. Kibum reaches for his cock, with an arm that feels like jelly, and tugs at it with no finesse. Taemin is a lot stronger than his slender form gives away and his thrusts are powerful; Kibum can’t catch his breath when he’s being ploughed into with such intensity. He fists his cock and presses his thumb into the slit, and his orgasm hits so hard that his vision blacks out for a moment.

 

“Oh fuck,” Taemin hisses, though his hips never cease their relentless rhythm. Kibum continues tugging at his cock with his cum-smeared hand until he’s overly-sensitive, and only then does he open his eyes.

 

What a sight it is that he sees. Taemin is panting, open-mouthed, as he chases his release. His golden hair hangs over his face like the finest silk curtain and his lips are swollen. The sensuality of him at climax was devastating last night and it is now too, and Kibum is certain that he will see this face in his fantasies for a long time to come. Finally, Taemin’s hips lose their rhythm. With a moan that makes Kibum less embarrassed about his own sounds earlier, he comes, rocking into Kibum until it’s over. And then he flops his entire bodyweight on Kibum, knocking the breath out of him in a completely different manner.

 

Kibum wriggles a hand free to prod Taemin’s side. “Yah, do you think you’re a feather? You’re squashing me.”

 

“It’s just for a while,” Taemin replies with a laugh.

 

He’s welcome to more than just a while, but Kibum doesn’t say that. He usually dislikes such full-on post-coital contact, but Taemin’s warmth is as comforting as a weighted blanket. In a few moments they’ll both be disagreeably sticky with drying sweat, but for now this is nice.

 

Taemin nuzzles his neck, right where the bruises are. “I didn’t bite you this time.”

 

“What a sacrifice that must have been,” Kibum drawls.

 

“You have no idea… you’re very bite-able.” Taemin detaches himself from Kibum’s neck and looks up. “Oh, it’s not raining anymore. I guess I should shower now and then we can go.”

 

“Yeah.” Not for the first time, Kibum wishes he had more time.

 

His answer prompts Taemin to roll away from him; their bodies detach, quite painfully for Kibum as the filled condom tugs past his rim, and Kibum bites back a grunt.

 

Taemin stretches as he stands up, displaying the immaculate lines of his dancer’s body. “Wanna join me?”

 

Is he joking? Kibum waves a hand in denial. “I’m half-dead, in case you didn’t notice. There’s no way I can go again-”

 

“No, I meant just a shower.”

 

How can Kibum say no to that?

 

*

 

“What time does the sun set these days?”

 

“About 6.30?” Taemin speeds up the car just a touch more even though he’s driving pretty fast already. “We’ll definitely make it in time, don’t worry.”

 

It wouldn’t matter too much if they don’t, Kibum thinks, but obviously he doesn’t say so. He’s floating on that cloud of post-coital contentment and even the damp weather can’t get him down.

 

“You’re very quiet,” Taemin says then.

 

It’s a casual remark, but Kibum can sense the question disguised within that statement and the nervousness that prompts Taemin to ask it. “I’m just a little tired,” he answers honestly. “This is a lot more travelling than I thought I’d be doing. And I know I’m just sitting here while you’re the one driving-”

 

“Ah, no,” Taemin says quickly. “I totally get it. When we go on tour, we take the bus between cities and even though I sleep most of the time, I’m still tired when we get to the hotel.” He drums his fingers on the wheel before continuing. “And sometimes you’re just tired without knowing why. My…” he trails off there and Kibum almost picks up the conversation when he continues “my friend says it’s emotional exhaustion, not physical exhaustion.”

 

“Your friend is probably right.” Kibum wonders what relationship Taemin has with this ‘friend’; that pause before Taemin labelled him or her seemed pretty significant. “I guess…” and now it’s his turn to pause, to wonder how much he wants to reveal to Taemin. “I guess I haven’t been dealing with my break-up. I’ve tried so hard to pretend that it doesn’t matter to me, that it’s good riddance to bad rubbish and all that, but the truth is that I miss Chaejin. My life feels so empty without him. I hate him and I miss him so much and it’s just fucking tiring.”

 

“It takes time.” Taemin sounds sympathetic, but not patronisingly so.

 

“I know. I was determined to hate every moment I had to spend on this island because of him, but that’s impossible now. And that’s because of you.”

 

Being sincerely complimented makes Taemin blush. Kibum halfway regrets making things awkward, but he needed to be honest; if he had never run into Taemin, he would have left Okinawa without taking a single step towards getting over Chaejin.

 

Just then, a buzzing sound fills the car. Taemin jolts as if he’s been electrocuted. Kibum guesses that his phone must be ringing and true enough, Taemin says “Oh, I have to take that. I’ll just stop for a while, okay?”

 

“Of course. Do you want me to step outside, give you some privacy?”

 

“Nah.”

 

With a singular wrench of the steering wheel that has Kibum grabbing the handle of his door, Taemin pulls the car over on the side of the road. He reaches for his phone without even pulling the handbrake and it’s only when Kibum points at it that he does so.

 

“Umma?”

 

There’s something so heart-wrenching in the way Taemin says the word that Kibum turns to look out of the window, to prevent Taemin from seeing it in his face. Even so, he can see Taemin’s reflection in the glass; his smile, invisible to the person it’s for, so wide that is crinkles the corners of his eyes. He’s nodding as he listens intently to whatever his mother is saying to him and paying no attention at all to anything else.

 

Kibum takes his own phone out of his bag, even though he just checked it a half hour ago, and scrolls through his Instagram feed so that it doesn’t seem like he’s eavesdropping – although he most certainly is.

 

“I’m fine, I had lunch.” That’s a lie, he had an apple that Kibum didn’t even let him finish. “Did you cook today?”

 

“How is appa?”

 

“Oh, is that Adam? What’s he barking at?”

 

“Ah, I didn’t know Taesun was coming over today… oh, I went to restaurant he likes, you know the one with the mussel hotpot, I brought you the last time you came? I went there yesterday with a friend-”

 

“That’s today?” Taemin’s dazzling smile dims, quivering on the edges. “It feels like the engagement was just last week. What are you wearing-” Something his mother says makes Taemin’s face fall. “Oh, okay. Have fun! Tell me about it tomorrow. Bye.”

 

He hangs up, looking a little lost. Kibum hesitates, unsure whether he should say something, but Taemin resolves that dilemma for him. “That was my umma.”

 

“I guessed.”

 

“She… my family, they’re attending my cousin’s wedding reception tonight.” Taemin puts the car in drive and pulls back onto the road. “That’s why she couldn’t talk for long. But she said she’ll call back tomorrow, so it’s fine. Like, we don’t need any more delays.”

 

And finally, Kibum understands.

 

Finally, it comes together; Taemin’s willingness to follow a stranger all over the place just because they share a language, his desperation for contact and affection that he doesn’t even seem aware of, his statement that he’s missed having conversations where he sounds like himself, the way Kibum can’t recall him checking his phone in the time they’ve spent together and the way he just assumed that the only person who would call him is his mother and the way he recklessly turned off the road just to answer that call – all of it finally makes sense.

 

He’s lonely.

 

Kibum questions why he didn’t pick on up Taemin’s obvious loneliness earlier, when he’s suffering from the same thing. Perhaps that’s why; until his confession to Taemin, he had been unwilling to see it in himself and so he was unable to see it in other people either. Now that he’s finally stopped pretending that the break-up didn’t leave him heartbroken, he can see loneliness – both his and Taemin’s, different though they might be – for what it is.

 

“Oh!” Taemin exclaims excitedly. “We’re close!”

 

There is a signboard outside, but the Japanese characters carry no meaning for Kibum. “How close?”

 

“We have to take the next exit, that goes to Yanbaru National Park, and from there on there’s a straight road to the look-out point, if I remember correctly.”

 

“That’s great.”

 

Taemin nods. “Yeah, it really is. And it’s still bright, so you can take some good photos for your article. See, I told you I’d get you there on time.”

 

*

 

It turns out that Taemin does remember correctly. Not half an hour after taking the exit – and driving up a pretty steep mountain road – they’re pulling into a parking lot that has more occupied spaces than empty ones. For a place so difficult to access, it’s a lot more popular than Kibum expects. “Oh, it’s full.”

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty popular with the locals.”

 

Further ahead, Kibum can see a grey structure that’s either stone or concrete; it could be an old fort or an elevated viewing deck. If he’s allowed to climb it, he might be able to get really good shots of the scenery.

 

Taemin parks the car and kills the engine. “Come on, let’s go!” He’s perky once more, having shrugged off the disappointment of the short phone call. Kibum tries to muster up the same excitement, if only to match his enthusiasm, as he allows Taemin to lead the way to the look-out point.

 

Just outside of the parking lot, there is a paved road that leads into a well-maintained greenery. Kibum can hear chatter and laughter before they’ve even stepped on it and sure enough, they run into the odd person or group here and there.

 

“It’s nice, right?” Taemin asks.

 

“Yes,” Kibum answers honestly. He’s not unfamiliar with the concept of ‘forest-bathing’ in Japanese culture and between his visit to the shrine’s garden and this place, he’s inclined to believe the hype. “You can tell that the forest isn’t growing wild, but at the same time it looks very natural.”

 

And then they’re there, at the base of the structure Kibum spotted earlier. Taemin’s got a huge smile on his face and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Come on, let’s see the front first before climbing up,” he says, tugging Kibum forward. Kibum allows himself to be led, half-amused by Taemin’s antics-

 

-and he’s at a loss for words.

 

The thing that he had assumed was either a fortress or viewing deck is in fact a giant, concrete _chicken_.

 

It can’t be a chicken, Kibum reasons with himself. Chickens have no cultural significance in Japanese culture. Maybe it’s a hawk or some similarly magnificent bird, badly rendered by a talentless artist. “What the fuck is it?”

 

Taemin laughs. “It’s a chicken.”

 

“It’s a fucking eyesore, that’s what it is.” Kibum shakes his head, perplexed by the vulgarity of a random chicken monument in the middle of a national park. “Why is it even here?”

 

“I don’t know.” Taemin shrugs, clearly amused by Kibum’s annoyance. “Maybe it’s some sort of art project.”

 

“Well, it’s definitely unique. Not one other country would think that a beautiful coastal view needs a giant chicken to improve it.”

 

That gets him a quiet giggle. Kibum smiles too. Perhaps the chicken isn’t completely useless after all. “Should we go inside?”

 

“Wait, I’ll take a photo for you first.”

 

“An offer I can’t refuse,” Kibum remarks, handing Taemin his phone. He dutifully poses in front of the thing, v-fingers and all, and Taemin dutifully snaps away, even crouching to get a full-body angle at one point. “Okay, enough fooling around, let me work.”

 

They climb up the stairs into the belly of the chicken and Kibum finds himself a quiet spot next to a couple trying to take a selca with one of those selfie-sticks. The sight of them playfully bickering makes him think of Chaejin; if they hadn’t broken up, they would be trying to take a couple selca in the same spot too. There is a pang in his heart for what might have been, but one that is not as severe as he might have thought.

 

The view is great. From the somewhat narrow gap in the chicken’s breast, Kibum can see the vast expanse of the national park all the way into the distant shoreline, with the white sands and crystal blue waters contrasting beautifully with the autumn colours of the forest.

 

The only thing displeasing part of the view is the cloudiness of the sky; it disperses the setting sun’s golden rays and creates lens flare at the oddest angles. Even so, Kibum manages to take some photos he can be proud of. He even gets one people in the background; a group had walked away from the chicken towards the parking lot.

 

“Done?” Taemin’s question comes right on the heel of him lowering his phone.

 

“I guess. Why?”

 

“There’s another spot I want to show you, it’s not far away but we should go now so that we don’t miss the sunset.”

 

Kibum already has the photos he wants, but there is no greater temptation for a photographer – even if he’s actually a writer more than a photographer, per se – than the promise of a better shot. “Lead the way.”

 

As he follows Taemin along a trail leading away from the chicken, Kibum tries to picture what the view would be like in the warmer seasons. It must be beautiful towards the end of spring when the flowers are in full bloom. There would be birds in the summer, of a variety of colours, who might be en route to warmer places now. The beach would probably be bustling with people and with a good enough camera, he might be able to take some artistic shots of them.

 

The sound of chatter fades away. The trail fades too, from a paved road to wooden slats muddied with the odd footprint to a dirt path which finally gives way to grass. Kibum notes the corresponding disappearance of the railings with growing concern; they are close to the edge of the mountain and a strong enough gust of wind could send them tumbling down.

 

He keeps inwards, shuddering at the various gory images his imagination is unhelpfully playing for him. Taemin doesn’t seem to share his concern. He strolls along, light-footed, so very close to the edge without the slightest regard for his own safety.

 

“Here we are!” Taemin says suddenly, coming to a stop. Kibum looks up, not even realising until then that his eyes had been fixed low on Taemin’s feet instead of his surroundings. Taemin’s got his arms spread, a picture of careless joy as the breeze tousles his hair and lifts the corners of his leather jacket. Behind him is a spectacular view of the sea.

 

Kibum steps forward, unable to believe his eyes. It had taken about twenty minutes for them to walk here, but the view is miles apart from what he saw at the look-out point.

  
They’re at the pointed edge of the island where land meets sea, a cape that is also a cliff. Behind them is forest, in front of them the blue vastness of the sea. And even though Kibum doesn’t like feeling so detached from solid ground, the view is worth the discomfort.

 

“This is Cape Hedo,” Taemin says. “It’s supposed to be the most northern point of Okinawa. Most people stop at the look-out point, but very few people know about this.”

 

“It’s beautiful.” An inadequate descriptor, surely, but Kibum can’t think of anything else at the moment.

 

“Go on,” Taemin says, gesturing towards the edge. “If you stand on the rocky bit, you can see much better.”

 

Kibum most certainly does not want to stand on ‘the rocky bit’, which is the very tip of the cliff where even the grass is afraid to grow, but it feels churlish not to when he has come this far. There is a cross-wind here that seems alive and malicious, like a predator waiting to claim any fool that dares to misstep. His head is throbbing with a stress-induced headache and given half the chance, he’d flee to the safety of the chicken. It takes all of his courage to slowly inch into place and he splays his legs wide as he comes to stand atop the ridge.

 

But Taemin is right, the view from up here is unmatched. The sheer wall of the cliff meets the sea in a bedrock of black stone, over which waves break with wild, frothy intensity. The water sprays high, as if it’s trying to overcome the mountain. Here, there are no clouds to obscure his view of the sun sitting low on the horizon. The navy blue darkness of the sea contrasts beautifully with golden sky.

 

Kibum takes his phone out with sweaty hands and tries to frame a shot, but he damn near drops the phone when a particularly large wave slams against the cliff face as if the sea also wants to kill him. The faster you do this, the faster you can go back, Kibum tells himself. Not that he has much time for dallying. The sun is barely visible as it is; they really did make it just in time.

 

Steadying himself, Kibum lines up his shot again, looking for that composition that will have the sky and sea in equal measure, with the characteristic white-tipped waves so closely associated with Japanese artistic renderings of the sea.

 

He’s pushed.

 

Kibum screams. In blind panic, he throws his entire bodyweight backwards and scrambles backwards from the edge; he bumps into Taemin and stomps on his feet but he doesn’t care, he just needs to get away from the edge or he’ll fall.

 

“Whoa, hey, HEY!”

 

Kibum’s legs buckle under him and he crawls back to the solid safety of the grass, far enough that he can’t see the craggy rocks below and the promise of death that they carry.

 

His head spins. It feels like he’s having a heart attack the way his heart hammers away as if it’s trying to burst out of his ribcage. His heart hurts and it hurts to breathe too and he can’t seem to catch his breath no matter how deeply he inhales.

 

Taemin crouches in front of him, completely blocking his view of the sea. “Hyung,” he says, sounding stricken. Kibum looks at him – at the apology in his face – and every last bit of his fear is replaced with cold fury.

 

“What the fuck,” he spits, unable to believe that Taemin – that anyone – can be so thoughtless, so spiteful.

 

“I’m sorry,” Taemin replies immediately. “You looked so… you were concentrating so hard-”

 

“So you pushed me?”

 

“No!” Taemin looks horrified, as if he has any right to. “I didn’t push you, I swear. I just… I tapped your back, I was going to ask if you could take a photo of me too.”

 

Kibum doesn’t believe a word of it, but as he catches his breath and processes Taemin’s explanation of events, it doesn’t ring false. With how close he was standing to the edge of that god-only-knows-how-stable rocky outcrop, he would have fallen right over if he had been pushed. To an already fearful mind, like his, Taemin’s oddly placed tap would have triggered alarm bells as if he had been pushed.

 

So Taemin is telling the truth after all.

 

And Kibum has made a fool of himself.

 

Tears of anger and shame well up in Kibum’s eyes. He looks away, not wanting to appear even more pathetic to Taemin. Not only did he overreact to an innocent gesture, he then accused Taemin of trying to murder him.

 

“Hey,” Taemin says, softly, as if Kibum is some wild woodland critter that would be scared away by the sound of his voice – he must have seen Kibum’s tears after all. Light and cautious, he places a hand on Kibum’s shoulder and asks “Do you want to go back?”

 

“No,” Kibum shakes his head, blinking his tears back. “No, just give me a moment… I’m not great with heights, as you can tell.”

 

“It’s fine, it’s normal.” Taemin pats his shoulder. “Actually, I like thrills and like, skydiving and stuff, so I just assumed that… well, that you’d be okay with standing on the edge there and that even if it’s scary that you’d enjoy it. And I guess I shouldn’t assume, because, like, one of the idols in the band I work with is afraid of flying and that’s a kind of phobia of heights too, right? So it’s pretty common.”

 

Kibum’s already addled brain struggles to come up with a response to the load of information Taemin just dumped on him.

 

“I can take the photos for you,” Taemin offers. “You stay here.”

 

It’s an offer Kibum would love to take him up on, if only he were halfway good at photography; it reminds him that he hasn’t yet photographed the cape and that he’s running out of time to do so. “No, I’m fine now. I’ll do it.”

 

Feeling decidedly stupid and cursing his pride, Kibum pushes himself up and approaches the cliff edge again. “Please don’t tap me on the back or do anything or even breathe on me this time,” Kibum warns Taemin.

 

Instead of replying, Taemin follows him onto the rocky ledge and offers him a hand. “Here, hold on.”

 

Damn Taemin and his damnable sweetness. Kibum’s eyes well up once more. “Thanks, but I need both hands to take the photo.”

 

“Then…” Taemin trails off, thoughtful “then, I’ll hold you?”

 

Kibum doesn’t really have an answer to that, not being sure what he means. Taemin steps up to him, slowly, until he’s pressed up against Kibum’s side, before looping his arms around Kibum’s waist. It’s a hug, but it feels more like a fortification, like Kibum’s a balloon that’s about to fly away and Taemin is the string keeping him tethered to the ground. It’s oddly comforting.

 

“Thank you.”

 

There is a purple tinge to the sky now. The roundness of the sun has dipped below the horizon and its rays are barely holding back the night. The foam tips of the waves that Kibum had wanted to photograph earlier are less visible now, though the waves sound no less powerful than before.

 

Despite the dying light, the view photographs beautifully.

 

Through the screen of his phone, Kibum captures the gradual darkening of the sky; the end of the day.

 

And with his own eyes, he watches the sky re-ignite with life; with the silver gleam of a crescent moon – overshadowed earlier by the sun – and the joyful sparkling of stars scattered across the wide sky.

 

The air grows colder; a chill sets in, until Kibum’s breath fogs as he breathes out.

 

And yet, he’s not inclined to move.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the splendour of the universe, Kibum turns to Taemin and in him, he finds a different sort of beauty.

 

Taemin is lost in the view, but his eyes are trained on the sea instead of the sky. His hair has curled at the edges, from the humidity of the air and being tossed by the wind. His lips are chapped and his breath fogs too, but his grip on Kibum’s waist hasn’t faltered at all.

 

“Taemin-ah,” Kibum calls, barely a whisper. There is something sacrosanct about the quiet of the night.

 

“Hmm?”

 

Kibum cups his face with one hand and softly strokes the plumpness of his cheek; Taemin’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into Kibum’s palm, as if he’s been waiting a whole lifetime for that one touch. There’s barely any distance between them, and it takes Kibum the slightest of movements to lean in and kiss him.

 

Unlike all of their other kisses, there is no sexual intent to this one. Kibum keeps his hand on Taemin’s cheek as their lips meet and slot together, and Taemin sighs into the kiss.

 

And though he cannot imagine ever growing tired of kissing Taemin, Kibum pulls away before the kiss can grow into a deeper one.

 

Taemin chases his lips. “Again,” he pleads, voice cracking. “Kiss me again.”

 

So Kibum does.

 

*

 

A Japanese pop song is playing, melodious and soothing. Kibum’s pretty sure he’s heard this one before, but he can’t place it.

 

When did Taemin turn the radio on?

 

He fell asleep again. Kibum sighs, wishing he could keep his tired eyes closed. It has been a battle to stay awake ever since they hit the motorway, full with steak and lulled by the dark, and he has to admit defeat now. He knows all about the dangers of long-distance driving and how a driver is more likely to fall asleep if their passengers do. That’s why he had been adamant to stay awake.

 

But Taemin is fine. He’s humming along to the song, the car is cruising along smoothly and they haven’t died in a fireball of an explosion. Clearly, Kibum can nap a little while more. Which is convenient, because what Kibum actually wants to do right now is to pretend to be asleep so that he can observe Taemin without making him self-conscious.

 

He looks cool, somehow. Kibum can only imagine how rumpled he must look, but it seems that there are very few looks that Taemin can’t pull off. He looked gorgeous in the morning with his hair perfectly blow-dried and he looks gorgeous now with his hair messily wind-blown. In this private moment, he looks unreadable; not hostile, merely distant.

 

Haven’t they been driving for a long time?

 

“Where are we?”

 

“Oh, you’re awake.” Taemin looks over, smiling. “Your timing is good, I was just about to call you. We’re in Nanjo.”

 

“ _Nanjo_?” So many thoughts compete for space in Kibum’s mind. He must have slept for a long time, not to have realised that he’s been in the car for almost four hours. Why has Taemin driven so far out of his way instead of just heading back home? Kibum had assumed that that was the plan and that he would just catch a bus back to his hotel. It must be so tiring for Taemin to be dragged all over the country like this, to drive over eight hours in one day and still be so far away from home.

 

“Your hotel is somewhere here, right?”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll drop you off at the Lawson. Do you remember it?”

 

“Yeah, I do… Taemin-ah, I’m grateful, it’s not that I’m not, but why did you go through so much trouble-”

 

As always, Taemin waves Kibum’s poorly expressed gratitude away. “It’s risky otherwise, you might have missed the last bus. Anyway, what’s another hour or so?”

 

Indeed, what is an hour? A goodbye delayed is still a goodbye that will have to be said, but Kibum’s no more eager to say it than Taemin is too. If Taemin wants to extend their time together, Kibum won’t complain. Soon enough, a familiar konbini comes into view. Its neon lights are still on, like the beacon of a lonely lighthouse in a street of darkened restaurants and boutiques selling tourist tat.

 

“Are you hungry?” Kibum asks. “I can get you something. Ramen? Onigiri? Or a drink?”

 

“I will explode,” Taemin replies, putting his hands over his tummy. “Four servings of meat was too much.”

 

“You’re the one who wanted the fourth,” Kibum reminds him; Taemin had taken him to a yakiniku restaurant in Kunigami-gun and insisted on ordering every cut of meat on offer, saying that Kibum had to try them all. They even had offal. “Well, if you’re sure, why don’t you come to the hotel instead?”

 

“Hotel?”

 

“My hotel,” Kibum clarifies, as if he could have meant anything else. “If you want to.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

What a strange question that is, Kibum thinks. Why wouldn’t he be sure? They’ve shared two motels already, what’s a third? “Of course I’m sure. It’s the Hyakuna Garan, do you know where it is?”

 

Taemin turns to him with wide eyes. “Hyakuna Garan? Do you work for the mafia or something? Even idols can’t afford to stay there.”

 

“That’s the perk of working for the corporate sector,” Kibum says, feeling a tinge of pride. The hotel is exclusive and luxurious and finally he gets to be the one taking Taemin somewhere new; finally, he gets the chance to repay him, in part, for everything he’s done. “Come on, don’t you want to see what it looks like inside? You can take some photos and make your idol colleagues jealous.”

 

“If you put it like that…”

 

The hotel is nearby, just a five minute drive from the Lawson. It’s easy enough to pick out, with its distinctive curved roof. Taemin has barely driven up the pebbled driveway when a man in a blue and gold waistcoat scrambles down the entrance, gesturing at him to stop. “

 

Oh, I don’t think they let people just drive in-” Taemin starts to say, but the man opens his door and bows.

 

“They have valet parking,” Kibum says, enjoying the way Taemin looks flustered by the treatment. A second valet opens his door; both men stay bowed until they get out of the car. The first valet gets into the car, closing the door with a gentle click, and trundles the car out of sight as they watch.

 

Taemin laughs.

 

“What?”

 

“My landlord’s car went to the Garan without him.”

 

A bellhop holds the door open for them as Kibum leads the way into the lobby. Beside him, Taemin takes in the sight of the high, marbled ceiling, the tasteful leather furniture and decorative palm trees and the far wall that opens to a view of the sea.

 

Receptionists greet them as they make their way to the lift lobby. Kibum uses his keycard to activate the lift, which arrives instantly, and presses the button for his floor. “Each floor only has two rooms,” he explains to Taemin. “Sea view and mountain view. Guess which one I got.”

 

Taemin doesn’t guess. Instead, he says “You should include the hotel in your article.”

 

“Darling, do you think the company put me here because they have money to burn? Of course this goes into the article. It was basically the first thing I did when I got here.”

 

The lift pings on their floor. The corridor that leads to the rooms is built in the traditional style, with polished wood and an arched ceiling. It is brightly lit and completely silent, as if they’ve stepped into a vacuum.

 

At the left end of the corridor is Kibum’s room. In keeping with the traditional architecture, the doors are not lockable western-style ones, but Japanese sliding doors; Kibum supposes there is little need to worry about theft in a five-star hotel in Japan.

 

“This is my room,” Kibum says, sliding the door open.

 

“Ohhh,” Taemin says, appreciative. The room is huge by Japanese standard, the size of a whole apartment. Someone – probably housekeeping – has turned the little lights on, and it fills the room with a tasteful coral glow. The heating is on too, set low, so the room is pleasantly warm. “This is so luxurious.”

 

Kibum kicks his shoes off by the door. The room is also floored with wood and he likes how it feels. Taemin walks through the living area, running his fingers over the bamboo furniture. It’s all artfully minimal; there is no TV or cupboard and no kitchenette either, only two chairs and a small table arranged to face the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlook the sea.

 

“The bedroom is better,” Kibum says, calling Taemin over, before he remembers. “Oh.”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“It’s a bit messy,” Kibum explains, remembering how he had ransacked his suitcase for a suitable outfit and left without bothering to tidy up. “Give me a few moments to tidy up.”

 

“Did you see my room?” Taemin asks. “I’m pretty sure yours isn’t as bad as that.”

 

It would take a hurricane to hit before any room of Kibum’s gets that bad, but that’s a thought Kibum keeps to himself as he opens the door and feels for the light switch. The one he hits is for the overhead fluorescent fixture, which fills the room with brightness and illuminates every corner, leaving nothing hidden.

 

There are clothes strewn all over the bed; various t-shirts and tops that Kibum had rejected in favour of his pink tank top. His DSLR is on the dresser, together with the contents of his make-up kit. His suitcase lies gutted on the floor, as does the various gifts he had purchased for his family and friends upon arriving in Naha. If Kibum’s grandmother were here, she’d have a fit.

 

“You call this messy?” Taemin says over his shoulder. “It’s so organised.”

 

“Organised? This?”

 

“Yeah,” Taemin asserts. “The clothes are all in one place, the bags have their own spot. I wouldn’t call this messy.”

 

“Anyway, this isn’t what I brought you here for.” Kibum picks his way through to the far side of the room where the balcony is. “Come and see this.”

 

The doors here are heavy and wooden, to keep the elements out. He pushes them open, both at once, and immediately, the sea breeze blows in; fresh and cold and just a touch salty. Taemin pushes past him, wordless, and steps out onto the wide platform of the balcony.

 

The rooms on this side of the hotel overlook the sea; there is not much of a beach here, just a thin strip of sand that gives way to deep waters and which is not visible from the balcony. It almost feels like the hotel is a ship sailing the sea. Kibum is not half as sea-crazy as Taemin and even he loves it, loves looking down into the vast depths of the sea as it ebbs beneath.

 

“You can sit here,” Kibum says, patting the deckchair “and order a whiskey or whatever else from the bar, and just listen to the waves. That’s what I did when I checked in.”

 

“You’ll have one too?”

 

“I need to pack, but I’ll stay for a while.”

 

“Pack? So early?”

 

“My flight is at 9am tomorrow, which means I have to be at the airport at 7am, which means I have to leave the hotel at 6am, which means I have to be up at 5.30am at the latest. When do I pack if not now?”

 

Taemin doesn’t answer him, but he looks thoughtful. “What if… I mean, that’s just a few hours away right, so if you don’t mind, I can hang around and give you a ride to the airport.”

 

Having Taemin drive him to the airport definitely beats taking a cab – and save him money – but it doesn’t sound like Taemin is offering him a favour; it sounds like a request. Unspoken is the imploration to let him stay in exchange for yet more assistance, as if he needs to trade his services for Kibum’s time and attention. “Did you think I asked you here to give you whiskey and kick you out to drive all the way home drunk?”

 

Taemin’s hesitates to answer and that hesitation is an answer in and of itself.

 

Kibum goes to him, catching him off guard and caging him against the guardrail of the balcony, and looks him right in the eye. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Taemin takes the opportunity to kiss him, a gentle peck on the lips that Kibum cultivates into something deeper. “I want you to stay.”

 

They stay like that for a while, sharing kisses as the sea plays them a lullaby, a love song, and Kibum feels like the rest of the world has fallen away; that all there is, and all there ever will be, is the two of them on this balcony and the sea underneath. They stay like that until Kibum’s fingers grow so stiff that he can no longer grasp Taemin’s hips, until Taemin’s earrings are as cold as ice cubes in his mouth and his teeth rattle together so much that he bites Taemin’s lips without meaning to. Only then does Kibum leave Taemin on the balcony and go in to start packing.

 

The first thing he does is to shed the fluffy red hoodie that he’s grown fond of, followed by his jeans and socks and underwear that he’s worn since yesterday morning. Of the marketplace he’s created on the bed, he picks out a jumper – a well-worn grey jumper that’s starting to fray around the edges – and sweats and fresh underwear. He takes his third shower of the day, this one just long enough to warm up and wash off the residue of the day.

 

As he shaves – because he certainly won’t be in the mood to do so tomorrow – the bruises around his neck no longer look ugly or harsh to his eyes. Indeed, to eyes that now see them with affection, they appear to be fading already.

 

He steps out of the bathroom to a room warmer than when he went in; Taemin is inside and he’s closed the doors to the balcony. His leather jacket is draped over the bench of the dresser. Without it, he’s like a turtle out of its shell and Kibum feels like he should wrap his small frame up in layers and protect him from the world.

 

“Are you-”

 

“Not hungry, not tired,” Taemin says sharply, cutting him off. “I’m fine, stop babying me.”

 

Kibum raises his hands in mock surrender, though he’s secretly amused by Taemin’s offense; it feels like being told off by a puppy. “Okay, sorry I asked. What do you want to do?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “You said you wanted to pack right? I’ll just hang around and chat?”

 

“Fine by me.”

 

Taemin takes that as permission to flop right in the middle of the bed, right over Kibum’s clothes, and lie there spread-eagled like a grotesquely overgrown starfish. “Ooh, the bed is so comfortable.”

 

Kibum finds his phone on the nightstand and snaps a photo of him, making sure to get as much of the room in the shot as possible. Taemin’s forgotten about his plan to take photos of him in the Garan to make his colleagues and landlord jealous, but Kibum hasn’t. He’ll send him this photo – as well as others he took earlier for his article – later on.

 

Once that is done, Kibum finally runs out of excuses to delay the dreary work of packing. He sits on the floor heavily and pulls his suitcase within reach, half-tempted to throw everything he owns into a laundry bag and check that in instead.

 

“So,” Kibum says, since Taemin wanted to chat “you never told me which idol group you work with. I know I’m ancient, but I might still recognise them.”

 

“They’re pretty famous.” Taemin peers down at him “but I simplified things a bit when I was explaining earlier. My company partners with this entertainment company, so I dance with two groups. And once or twice with members from the groups who’ve had solo concerts.”

 

“Wow.” Kibum takes in this new information and the first thing that strikes him is that Taemin, as a back-up dancer, has to remember more choreography than idols themselves. “That’s a lot of choreo to remember.”

 

Taemin nods. “It’s not a common arrangement, but Rino lets me have my way. I stick with the groups when they tour Japan but not when they have concerts in Korea or anywhere else.”

 

“Oh, why not?” It’s an arrangement that doesn’t make much sense to Kibum, particularly in Taemin’s case. “They pay for your flight, right? Then, if you have time after the concert, you can go home and visit your family and friends. Or do they not give you time? At the very least you’d have time to eat a Korean meal. I don’t think you can easily find things like aged kimchi stew in Japan.”

 

“My umma makes the best kimchi stew,” Taemin says. “Seriously. It’s better than anything you can find in a restaurant.”

 

Which was not Kibum’s point, but Taemin sighs then, deep and weary. “It’s kind of stupid…”

 

Kibum stops what he’s doing and turns to face Taemin, who looks at the ceiling instead.

 

“It’s just, after moving here… Okinawa is a lot smaller and quieter than Seoul, right?”

 

“Sure, if we’re comparing, Okinawa is probably the equivalent of Jeju.”

 

“Exactly. Whenever I go to Seoul, I feel like… like I’m going to suffocate.” There is something in Taemin’s voice that makes Kibum want to reach out to him, to hold him, but he keeps his hands to himself. “And I know it’s stupid, I grew up in Seoul. I lived there for over 20 years. My family is there. My friends are there. I have so many good memories there, it’s not like I had a terrible childhood or something. But now, I can only stay there for two or three days and then it’s like… like there’s a fire under my skin and the only way to put it out is to come back here.”

 

“Because walking on the beach puts it out?”

 

“It sounds crazy, right? I mean, talk about a self-inflicted problem. I don’t understand why it’s like this.”

 

There is no answer Kibum can give, no consolation or advice. To him, it sounds like Taemin is depressed and that living in Okinawa – specifically, living on the beach – is his way of coping with it. But if he were to compare Taemin to himself, he’d hate to live in Daegu now despite having happily grown up there. Seoul is his home. Who’s to say that Taemin is any different from him? “Does it upset you?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I mean, okay, you love Okinawa and you don’t like being in Seoul anymore, except for short visits. There’s no rule that says you must like Seoul.”

 

“True,” Taemin muses, looking at him for the first time since the conversation started. “I guess, I miss my family? It’s not like Okinawa is home either. I live in a tiny room, I share the house with my landlord. It’s nice but it’s not mine, you know? It’s like I’m neither here nor there.”

 

You’re lonely, Kibum thinks, adrift in the world in self-imposed exile. He can’t say that to Taemin though; knowledge can be a heavy burden and he doesn’t want to drop this weight on Taemin’s shoulders and leave him to deal with it alone. Since he has no comforting words to offer, he leaves his packing to run a hand through Taemin’s hair.

 

“You know,” Taemin says, in a completely different tone of voice “the bed is really comfortable.”

 

“So?”

 

“It would be a pity not to…”

 

“Not to what?” Kibum teases, a little surprised by the sudden change in Taemin’s mood.

 

“Fool around? If you’re worried about not being able to sit on the plane, it’s okay, I’ll let you fuck me this time.”

 

“So generous of you,” Kibum murmurs, kissing Taemin before he can come up with a snarky reply. He bites him too, for good measure. “But I really need to finish packing.”

 

“You know, I’m usually the one who plays hard to get,” Taemin remarks. He sits up and tugs the front of Kibum’s jumper until Kibum comes within kissing distance again. Of the truth of Taemin’s statement Kibum has no doubt, and truth be told he wants to give in and give Taemin whatever he’s asking for. He’s not interested in playing hard to get.

 

All he’s asking for is a few minutes to finish packing.

 

So he lets Taemin have this kiss and steps back when he has to take a breath. “Babe, look, I want this as much as you do, but please let me pack first. Be a good boy and wait for me, and hyung will make it up to you.”

 

Taemin narrows his eyes at him. “Fine, but I’m choosing how you make it up.”

 

“Deal.” Kibum seals it with a kiss.

 

He’s just sat down again when something comes flying off the bed, startling him. For the briefest second he thinks it’s a cockroach, but then he recognises the red and white colour, the fabric; it’s Taemin’s shirt. Shortly after, Taemin’s jeans hit the floor too. “Yah, what are you doing?”

 

He hears the sheets being scrunched, the pillows being beaten. “Waiting.”

 

Time ticks by as Kibum packs in earnest. He brought so many different outfits because he assumed that he’d be changing at least twice a day; he folds them all neatly at the bottom of his suitcase, except for the clothes he’ll be wearing tomorrow. The presents get packed on top of that. There’s some trinkets he got at Naha market for his friends and colleagues, some sweet treats and a few bingata – traditional Okinawan decorative painting – keychains and business card cases. For his father, there’s a bottle of the yuzushu that he had specifically asked for, carefully wrapped in the bingata sash that he bought for his mother. On top of all of that goes his used clothes, packed into the hotel’s laundry bag, and then he’s done.

 

Kibum flips the suitcase shut and shoves it against the wall. “There, I’m all yours now,” he announces.

 

There is no answer. So that’s how it’s going to be, Kibum thinks, with Taemin playing at being affronted and Kibum being extra sweet in order to regain his favour. It’s not a role he normally plays, but he’s in the mood to spoil Taemin so he doesn’t mind. With an apology on his lips, Kibum turns to Taemin.

 

Curled into a ball, with his knees drawn up to his chest and a pillow clutched in his arms, inside a cocoon made of the sheets and blankets, there is Taemin. He’s fast asleep.

 

Kibum’s heart, that treacherous, fickle thing, softens for Taemin as if he’s a puppy. That whole romantic trope of watching someone sleep has never appealed to Kibum, but seeing Taemin sleep so soundly, he gets it. Snug and warm, Taemin looks peaceful, untroubled by the worries he had given Kibum a glimpse of. Kibum wants him to always be like this; wants to hold him close and keep him safe, even though he knows that there isn’t anything to protect Taemin from. It’s a futile wish to stop the passage of time, but he wants to keep Taemin like this forever.

 

He must be exhausted. They’ve both had two full days – right from their fateful meeting at the Lawson – but at least Kibum got to sleep in the car during the drive back from Yanbaru.

 

A small part of him grouses as he dismisses his amorous ideas – one of the condoms in his bag is a dotted one that he wanted to test out – but it is a very small part. Let Taemin have his rest. Kibum is happy just to have him here.

 

He kicks his sweats off and carefully lifts the edge of the sheets to climb inside. It’s a good thing that the hotel has provided an abundance of pillows, since Taemin has hogged all but one. Kibum has just laid his head on it when Taemin cracks his eyes open.

 

“Oh, there you are,” he says, voice heavy with sleep.

 

“Mmm,” Kibum agrees. Taemin’s clearly waiting for him to make the first move, so he reaches out and strokes his hair. That’s another thing that he could never tire of; Taemin’s hair is soft and thick and just the right length to be played with. Taemin makes a happy sound and shuffles closer, angling for a kiss.

 

Kibum meets him eagerly, never one to turn down the chance of feeling those soft, plump lips against his own. This time, Taemin tastes of menthol cigarettes and salt, not in the slightest bit sweet but addictive nonetheless. The last Kibum had checked the time, it was just past 2am, which means that the first time he had kissed Taemin was barely 24 hours ago. Yet, it feels like he’s known this intimacy for a lifetime.

 

Taemin swipes a tongue over his closed lips, making an attempt to kick things up a notch, but Kibum can feel his exhaustion in the way he barely lifts his head off the pillow and in the way the rest of his body remains cocooned and inert. Kibum lets him have the kiss, one more and another, before forcing himself to pull away. “Let’s sleep,” he says.

 

Taemin whines, frowning, but he doesn’t protest in words.

 

Kibum reaches into the layers of blankets swaddling him and pulls Taemin’s entire body into his arms, so close that they’re chest to chest and their legs are tangled together. “Like this.”

 

Taemin buries his face in Kibum’s neck, his hair tickling the curve of Kibum’s shoulder. “I’ll bite you,” he threatens, nipping a spot that he had already bruised with his teeth. “Can I take you to one more place? It’s on the way to the airport, we only need to leave a little earlier than you planned.”

 

“Okay,” Kibum agrees.

 

Despite his threat, Taemin only leaves kisses on his neck. Kibum strokes the warm expanse of his back until he falls asleep right there.

 

And though Kibum has set an alarm, he doesn’t sleep at all.

 

How can he, when it feels like each exhale that expands Taemin’s chest breaks the walls around his own heart just that bit more, so that with each breath, it feels like the raw, bleeding heart he’s kept within is being exposed? How can he, when he can’t bear the thought of not having Taemin in his arms anymore?

 

For the first time in an eternity, Kibum prays to a God he’s stopped believing in. Please let me keep him, he begs, please let me have him. In part, he wants Taemin for himself. Somehow, Taemin eases the parts of him that Chaejin hurt the most. Somehow, he knows which of Kibum’s boundaries can be pushed and which to leave alone. And in part, he wants to keep Taemin for Taemin’s sake. Kibum wouldn’t discard him like trash, like one of his previous lovers must have done to make him say ‘you cam back’ with that heartbreaking expression. Kibum wants to listen to his little rambling conversations and give him the affection he craves.

 

When God doesn’t answer, Kibum bargains with himself. Maybe he can delay his flight for a day or two and spend more time with Taemin and not say goodbye so soon. He’s got plenty of leave saved up. His company can’t object to him taking an unplanned day off as long as he checks out of the hotel and cover the cost of rescheduling the flight himself.

 

But in his heart of hearts, Kibum knows that he would be no more prepared to leave Taemin tomorrow than he is today. What difference will a day make anyway? They both have to return to their lives eventually.

 

The alarm goes off, far sooner than it should, it feels like. Kibum silences it and turns his attention to the boy in his arms, who’s sleeping undisturbed. He kisses Taemin’s forehead to wake him up and Taemin does, looking more tired than before he fell asleep. “Hey babe,” he says softly. “Time to shower and go.”

 

“Can I…” Taemin sounds hoarse. “Can I borrow something to wear? Just a t-shirt, or something you don’t want anymore?”

 

“Okay.” Kibum frees himself from the warmth of the bed and heads for his suitcase, digging through the stuff he painstakingly packed not too long ago, until he finds a long-sleeved t-shirt, black with mustard, red and white stripes. It’s thick but not overly so. It’s not something he’ll miss. “Here, take this.”

 

Kibum gets changed while Taemin showers and calls the reception to check out. The hotel is remarkably efficient; by the time they arrive at the lobby, the receipt for Kibum’s stay has been printed and Taemin’s car is parked in the driveway, the doors ajar and engine running so that they just have to get in. The bellhop loads Kibum’s suitcase in the trunk while he signs the receipt.

 

“Wow, they cleaned the windows,” Taemin says they’ve climbed in. It’s true, the little dust spots left by the rain have been polished away. “This place is amazing.”

 

“The price is amazing too,” Kibum replies. “Anyway, where are you taking me? What is this mysterious place that opens even before the sun comes up?”

 

*

 

A&W.

 

Specifically, the drive-thru branch of A&W that’s located just by Naha Airport.

 

Taemin is slumped in his seat, propping his head up with his hand. He still looks half-asleep. They’ve ordered burgers, fries and the famous root beer, but the atmosphere is a little tense. Taemin clearly isn’t up for conversation and Kibum doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with empty words.

 

Instead, he takes photos of the distinctive brown and orange décor of the restaurant. A&W was pretty popular when he was growing up, but the franchise has long disappeared in Korea. Not so discreetly, he takes a couple of photos of Taemin; the lighting makes his hair shine and the long-sleeved t-shirt looks far better on him that it ever would on Kibum.

 

“For the article?” Taemin asks.

 

“No, just for me. I might put it on Insta.” Kibum puts his phone away and nibbles on a curly fry. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

 

Taemin shrugs. “I might drop by the dance studio for a while, see how the classes are getting on.” He reaches for the fries too, popping them into his mouth one after the other, and washes them down with a gulp of root beer. “Or maybe I’ll go straight home, watch the sunrise on the beach, and sleep the rest of the day.”

 

“That sounds like an excellent plan for a day off.”

 

Taemin smiles. “I’m a bit of a workaholic. Anyway, this t-shirt is really soft and comfortable. It must have been expensive.”

 

“Ehhh,” Kibum replies, because it was but he doesn’t want to make a big deal of it.

 

“If you give me… I mean, it doesn’t have to be your address, but like, if you give me your number, I can have it washed and pass it to one of my colleagues when they go to Seoul, or I can have it couriered-”

 

“Keep it,” Kibum says, rejecting Taemin’s offer and the request hidden within. “You know, as a memory of that weird guy who couldn’t be bothered to do research for the article he was supposed to write.”

 

Taemin’s face crumples – and Kibum’s heart sinks at the sight – but he takes a sip of his drink and plasters a smile on just in time to reply “You mean the weird guy who stalked me?”

 

“Otherwise known as the guy who got duped into travelling for four hours to see a giant chicken.”

 

That makes Taemin laugh. “Also the guy who thought I was trying to push him off a cliff.”

 

Kibum laughs with him. He’s travelled with Taemin, eaten with him, fought with him, fucked him, kissed him, shared his thoughts and feelings with him and slept with him; done so much with him that it feels like they’ve been together for a lot more than two days.

 

The door chimes as a customer walks in and all of a sudden, their laughter seems a little loud for the early hour. Until now, the place had been theirs alone. It’s a reminder for Kibum that he doesn’t have all that much time to linger, no matter how much he might want to. Well, he does have time for one last thing. Reaching into his bag, he takes out a little gift that he had packed for Taemin in the very last minutes of his stay at the hotel. There’s a glimmer of recognition in Taemin’s eyes when Kibum places the petrol station’s green plastic bag on the table.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Open it.”

 

Taemin tugs the bag open and peers in. “Shampoo?”

 

“And conditioner, shower gel, shaving cream, aftershave and hand cream, all from the Garan.” Kibum had stashed them away for himself on the very first day, to add to his collection of hotel toiletry at home. “You know, in case anyone doesn’t believe that you got to stay there.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

*

 

The chicken is not, in fact, a chicken but a railbird; the official bird of Okinawa.

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Kibum says aloud. Luckily, the seat next to his is empty, so no one has been disturbed by his outburst. No one is there to witness the tears that leak from the corners of his eyes or hear the quiet sobs he muffles into his travel pillow.

 

*

 

The email had sounded ominous. ‘Meet me when you’re free, thanks.’

 

Kibum trudges to his editor’s office; he is in no moods to hear criticism about this article. He knocks on the door and lets himself in. “You wanted to see me?”

 

“Ah, Kibum!” Jinki does not look unhappy. “About the article, I just wanted to say that it’s brilliant. You really outdid yourself this time. I mean, you always do, but this one was just perfect.”

 

“Thank you,” Kibum replies, feeling that warm glow that comes with praise.

 

“There’s just one thing I wanted to run by you,” Jinki says then, beckoning Kibum around his desk to look at his computer. “I want to replace this photo.”

 

It’s the one from the A&W. Taemin is in the corner of the shot, looking at nothing in particular; his skin is burnished gold, his hair silken silver, his lips peach pink. He’s wearing Kibum’s t-shirt.

 

“This person’s face is too obvious,” Jinki explains. “We might run into trouble with portrait rights. Do you have any alternatives?”

 

“It won’t be a problem.”

 

“No, it’s definitely clear enough-”

 

“Even if his face were in the middle of the frame, it’s not going to be a problem.”

 

*

 

“Since when do you listen to boybands?” Sookyung asks. Kibum immediately regrets giving here his phone; she had asked for it to show him a catwalk disaster and his recent searches must be visible.

 

“They’re not half-bad,” he replies cautiously.

 

“True. My nephews and nieces are crazy about Hex-Oh. And one of them likes DreaCT too. I wonder how they’ll feel to know that an ahjussi also likes the same groups.”

 

“Yah, who are you calling an ahjussi? You’re older than me. What does that make you?”

 

“Hello, I’ve accepted my spinster witch aunt status. Nothing you say about my age can hurt me.”

 

Kibum laughs with her, but he doesn’t bother to explain that he’s not interested in the groups per se. It’s not the idols that he watches in the fancams. It’s just that, every now and again, he gets the urge to see a particular back-up dancer who’s only visible in the periphery of the fancams.

 

“Anyway,” he says, changing the topic “did Namhyun tell you that I’m going to be taking one of his puppies?”

 

XXXXX

 

_hiya!_

_so, here's an early christmas present from me. the story is more or less finished, save for a short epilogue i may or may not write. as always, do leave a comment letting me know what you thought - i love reading them._

_love,_

_sherleigh_

 

 


	4. Epilogue: To Where You Are (I Am Coming)

**Epilogue: To Where You Are (I Am Coming)**

 

“I don’t know,” Jinki murmurs, eyeing Kibum’s proposal. “This is usually Minhee’s portfolio-”

 

“And travel is usually Youngdo’s, but that didn’t stop Bon & Partners from ordering extra copies because of my article.”

 

Jinki sighs; a sign that he’s giving in. The Okinawa article – and how happy the clients had been with it – is a trump card Kibum has kept in hand, to be played at a crucial moment like this one. “She won’t be happy. She’s already done the prep for this month’s concerts.”

 

“That’s life.” That sounds mean, even to his own ears. Kibum is not a writer who poaches articles and he hates people who do it, but this is an exception. He’ll buy Minhee a ticket to any other Hex-Oh concert with his own money if she wants, but he must attend this one. In fact, he’ll buy her one anyway; if not for her leaving the list of names of back-up dancers and live band members on her table, he would never have known that Taemin will be dancing with Hex-Oh on the Seoul dates of their Tempo tour.

 

“That’s not how I run things,” Jinki admonishes. “But I guess… whenever you insist on taking a particular thing, it usually turns out well, so you can have this one. What’s the angle you’re going for anyway?”

 

Kibum restrains his expression, containing his triumph. “You can read the article and see.”

 

Jinki sighs again, but his expression is fond. “What other editor will let you bully them like this?”

 

“You’re the best, yeonggam,” Kibum replies. “That’s why my best work is for you.”

 

 

*

 

In a sea of mostly teenage girls and university students, Kibum feels out of place. The press tag around his neck is probably the only thing that keeps him from being called out as a pervert; though there are male fans commenting on the videos and photos posted by fansites of the group, precious few of them are in attendance.

 

He wanders around the venue before the concert and snaps photos of the merchandise booth, thronged with fans spending more generously than a politician in election year, the pockets of international fans amongst local ones and the larger than life banners of individual members lined up outside the stadium as if they’re flags.

 

The angle he’s taking for this article is going to be a controversial one. It’s supposed to be about the concert – that’s why the entertainment company had given him a press pass, after all – but he’s going to focus on the commodification of fan labour. He’s done a lot of research into fandom discontent about how promotions have reduced from year to year and how companies essentially rely on fans to market idols once they’re past their debut years. It will be largely complimentary about the group itself – depending on how they perform – but critical of the company itself.

 

But the article occupies only a small part of his thoughts, the vast majority of which is given to Taemin. He follows the other press members into the stadium and takes his prime seat, right in front of the stage, and waits with growing anticipation as fans start streaming in. There are banners on the seats, with fanchants to sing along to during a certain song, and Kibum eyes the curtains behind which the idols must be waiting.

 

Taemin must be there too.

 

The lights dim and a cheer runs through the entire stadium that makes Kibum’s hair stand on end. Although he’s not a fan of Hex-Oh, there is something undeniably electric about the atmosphere at kpop concerts that cannot be replicated by non-idol artists. These fans are not here for the music, they’re here for the idols – and it shows.

 

Then, a roar, as the curtains open and a heavy bass reverbs all around. The sound of chairs scraping the floor fills the stadium as fans come to their feet and Kibum rises too, caught in the sweeping wave of emotion. That, and he needs to stand too if he hopes to see anything.

 

Six cloaked people walk out on stage. The lights come on and their cloaks drop to reveal the faces of the Hex-Oh members. The crowd goes wild. Kibum winces at the volume at which the fans are screaming; most of them will lose their voices tomorrow if they keep this up and judging from the fancams he’s seen, they definitely will.

 

But he’s a little disappointed too. The first song is performed with just the six members of Hex-Oh; he photographs them and makes a notation that they are definitely lip-syncing, and waits for the song to be over.

 

For the second song, back-up dancers emerge from the wings. He counts six of them, all women, before the male dancers come out, led by Taemin.

 

His hair is black and he’s heavily made-up, with smoky eyeliner and red lips, but he’s still unmistakably Taemin. Kibum cheers with the fans this time as Hex-Oh’s debut song starts playing and waves his hands fruitlessly, wishing that he had the foresight to purchase the pretty purple lightstick that all the fans have.

 

The back-up dancers, all twelve of them, stay onstage for the first part of the concert. It’s entirely lipsynced, but Kibum’s can’t really blame the idols; all of the songs are dance tracks with vigorous choreography and large swathes of lyric-free electric synths. He takes a couple of photos for the pretty costumes the idols are clothed in, but mostly, he spends his time watching Taemin at work. His camera, which is supposed to be trained on the idols, often finds Taemin at the centre of the shots he takes during the first set.

 

The fancams do him little justice, Kibum realises. To see Taemin dance with his own eyes is to realise that he’s looking upon an artist, a prodigy. The best parts of the choreography are reserved for the idols, but Taemin turns what little he’s given into a performance that is his own. Like all of the other dancers, he gets no attention at all from the crowd; no cheers or screams, but to Kibum, he is all he has eyes for.

 

After six songs, the idols and the dancers troop offstage and a VCR plays. The fans sit and Kibum realises that he has a problem.

 

He had assumed that with his position right in front of the stage, he would be visible to Taemin; that even if Taemin doesn’t notice him on his own, he’d be able to catch his attention somehow.

 

Reality is far from his assumptions. Though his seat is close to the stage than any other, it’s clear that, with the lighting focused on the idols and the rest of the stadium cast in darkness, faces in the crowd would not be discernible to the people onstage. Then there’s the fact that the front of the stage belongs to Hex-Oh; the backup dancers are positioned behind them. And having seen Taemin dance, Kibum understands now that even if Taemin were standing at the front of the stage in his section, he would still be invisible to a dancer who loses himself in his art the way Taemin does.

 

He needs a new plan.

 

Kibum goes through the motions of photography and note-taking through the second section of the concert, which consists of mid-tempo tracks, whilst scheming a way to get Taemin’s attention. Finally, as one of the idols announces that he’ll be chatting with the fans while the other members change costumes, Kibum sees his opening.

 

There are many guards patrolling the area, constantly telling fans to put their phones away; in his section alone, there are two men and two women, each one looking as strict as the last.

 

The one that looks the least strict is a young woman who seems a little out of her depth; Kibum guesses she must be new. When she walks past him, he flags her down. “Excuse me, miss?”

 

Her expressions change so fast, from suspicion when he calls her to relief when she spots his press tag to suspicion once more – probably as she remembers that the press can sometimes be a foe instead of a friend. “Yes?”

 

“I need your help with my work,” he starts, hoping to convince her that he’s acting in a professional capacity - that he’s not one of the fans trying to stalk the idols – because his request is definitely going to be a suspicious one. “I’m a journalist and I recently wrote an article in collaboration with Lee Taemin, who is one of the back-up dancers. If I can just-”

 

Already, she looks skeptical. “I can’t let you backstage.”

 

There goes that plan. No matter, Kibum smoothly says “No, that’s not it at all.” He takes a copy of Bon & Partner’s biannual magazine from his bag and shows it to her. “The article has been published and I want to give him a copy of the magazine, but I lost his contact number.”

 

Just then, the crowd cheers. She glances at the stage and turns back to him with a discouraging expression. “I have to work, sorry.”

 

It’s not a rejection, Kibum tells himself. There are three other guards and the concert isn’t over yet; he will convince one of them to give his magazine – with his phone number scrawled inside – to Taemin before it’s over.

 

Until then, he will work. After all, he promised Jinki an article.

 

*

 

The lights come on, filling the whole stadium and indicating that the concert is indeed over. A hum of voices, so different from the screaming earlier, fills the stadium as fans gather their things and slowly leave. Many of them are taking selcas against the backdrop of the empty stage.

 

Kibum packs his things too, everything apart from the magazine he is determined to have delivered. One of the male guards had rejected his request too, but he’s not giving up yet. He will throw the damn thing at the tour bus if he needs to.

 

Right then, the first guard returns to him. “Sir, you’re the one who wanted to see one of the back-up dancers, right?”

 

Yes, he is. “No, not see him,” Kibum says, lying so that he seems to be only casually interested in Taemin. “I just wanted to pass him a copy of the article. It would be helpful to get his contact number again, but that’s not a life-or-death issue.”

 

Her eyes narrow, as if she can sense his dishonesty.

 

Kibum keeps his expression neutral and careless.

 

“Okay,” she finally says, reaching out for the magazine. “I’ll pass this to the stage manager, he’ll decide whether to give it to…”

 

“Lee Taemin-ssi.”

 

“Yes. Please wait here, if he says no I’ll return the magazine to you.”

 

Watching her take off at a half-jog, Kibum feels an uneasy thrum of nervousness deep in his gut. Months have passed and seasons have changed, he’s been on a few dates and who’s to say that Taemin hasn’t met someone too? In the emptying stadium, Kibum questions the wisdom of his actions for the first time since he spotted Taemin’s name on Minhee’s paperwork. What does he expect from this?

 

But just as quickly as the doubts set in, it dissipates. He’s here because, no matter the outcome of this meeting, Taemin is a person he cares about. Even if Taemin were to return the magazine unread, this would not have been a waste of time; Kibum will walk away knowing that Taemin is happy and secure enough to reject the companionship he’s offering. If Taemin were to come out with a wedding band around his finger, Kibum will congratulate him and invite both him and his wife to dinner.

 

In the now quiet stadium, the creak of the door opening is loud. Kibum whips around to see whether what sort of expression the guard is wearing; whether she brings good news or bad.

 

But the person pushing the door open isn’t the guard, it’s Taemin.

 

Taemin, whose hair is damp with sweat and whose wide eyes look on him with disbelief. “Kibum?”

 

“Hey,” Kibum replies, with a half-hearted wave. What sort of greeting is appropriate for a situation like this?

 

“How… I mean, did you come to see me?” Taemin still looks incredulous as he walks towards Kibum. It takes him back to the time at the beach when Taemin had accused him of stalking.

 

“I’m here for work,” Kibum answers, because that’s true too. “And of course I recognised you. I waved at you a lot, but you didn’t notice me. I hope it’s okay that I asked for you-”

 

Taemin nods, cutting Kibum’s question off as he comes to stand in front of him.

 

Up close, Kibum can see how the corners of his eyeliner have smudged; how his face has been wiped clean of make-up but his lips are still faintly tinged red with the remnants of his lipstick. He’s shed the outer layers of his outfit and is now only dressed in a white t-shirt, black slacks and slippers.

 

In his eyes, Kibum sees the same nervousness that he himself feels.

 

They’re so close but it still feels like they’ve got an ocean between them.

 

“Your hair is black now,” Kibum says. “It looks good on you.” He reaches out to brush a strand out of Taemin’s eyes-

 

-and that’s all it takes.

 

The next thing he knows, he has both arms full of Taemin. Taemin’s chin is digging into his shoulder and Taemin’s arms are thrown over his and his sweaty body is pressed into Kibum’s clean outfit and it’s the best hug he’s ever received. Kibum holds on to him and breathes in his scent that he’s missed so dearly. “Yah,” he says, hating how shaky his voice sounds “what is this?”

 

“I didn’t think…” Taemin detaches himself from Kibum, but keeps a hand on his arm as if Kibum will run away if he doesn’t. “I mean, seeing you here… I never thought-”

 

“Me too,” Kibum says, knowing exactly what Taemin is trying to find the words to say. “But since we’re both here, if you’re not too busy, let me buy you a drink?”

 

“Ah!” Taemin exclaims. “Ah, I have to change! Sorry, we have a time limit to shower and change, the stage manager will have my head if the costume’s not returned in time. Can you wait for a while? I’ll take like ten minutes, I promise.”

 

“Go, go.” Kibum shoos Taemin backstage. “I’ll wait here.”

 

“Even if I take longer, don’t go anywhere!”

 

Kibum laughs. “Even if security tries to drag me out, I’ll cling to the beams or something.”

 

*

 

Taemin does end up taking far more than ten minutes to get changed and Kibum very nearly does get his arse kicked by security for wanting to linger in the stadium so long after the concert is over.

 

A saviour comes in the form of the security guard from earlier, the girl who so kindly delivered Kibum’s magazine and message to Taemin; she coaxes Kibum to wait near a specific exit and promises that she will tell Taemin where to find him.

 

With nothing to do but wait, Kibum sits on a bollard and observes the dynamics of the crowd of fans post-concert. A mass of them are waiting by a different exit, all for the opportunity to wave as their idols drive past them in a van with heavily tinted windows. It’s the royal treatment that even royals don’t get these days. Kibum doubts that there are adoring crowds waiting to wave at the Queen every time she visits Parliament or the races. Others are lingering, chatting and comparing merchandise. Some have trailed off into the night; perhaps they live far away and need to catch the last train home. Or perhaps they’re not quite as enamoured with their idols as the others.

 

The summer air is balmy despite the late hour. Kibum dressed light for the concert but he’s still sweaty and uncomfortably warm and yearning to go somewhere with air-conditioning.

 

“Kibum?”

 

Taemin’s changed into a black t-shirt and jeans and he’s covered himself up with a mask and that ugly bucket hat, but underneath it all his eyes are smile-crinkled. He’s got a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and Kibum can see his magazine rolled and stuffed into a side pocket.

 

“Hey.” Kibum stands up and stretches the kinks out of his back. “So, shall we get to the subway first and then decide where to-”

 

“Come this way,” Taemin says, cutting him off; he grabs the sleeve of Kibum’s shirt and tugs him along, towards the back of the stadium and away from the crowd. “There’s another station down this way, but it’s a longer walk and the fans won’t use it.”

 

“They still stalk you?”

 

No sooner has the question passed his lips than a couple of wolf whistles ring out behind them. Taemin’s cheeks, what little of them are visible, turn red and he drops Kibum’s hand. Kibum turns to see who it is, but all he sees is a flash of golden hair and one of the stadium doors swinging shut.

 

“Sorry,” Taemin says, “my colleagues are assholes, all of them.”

 

“Oh, that was them?” Kibum reaches out to take Taemin’s hand again, but thinks better of it; they’re in public and it’s not dark or un-crowded enough for public displays of affection to go unnoticed. Instead, he catches up to Taemin so that they’re walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

 

“I was supposed to have dinner with them, it’s what we do after concerts,” Taemin explains. “So they all wanted to see who was stealing me instead and like, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it tomorrow. I’m one of the younger dancers, but I swear, I’m the most mature one sometimes.”

 

“Aigoo, my poor baby, suffering so much because of this thoughtless hyung,” Kibum teases, earning him an exasperated glare from Taemin. “Tell me, what can I do to make it up to you?”

 

“Oh,” Taemin says, that one word carrying within it a promise of mischief. Kibum grins and Taemin’s grinning too when he leans in close to whisper in Kibum’s ear. “Actually, there’s two things: feed me and fuck me.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

 

 


	5. Coda: Be Happy (Even More than Me)

**Coda: Be Happy (Even More than Me)**

 

The sky is golden and so is the clear water. It’s as if the world is made of crystal and water and even the sand feels like liquid gold under his feet. Taemin inhales the sea air, the salty scent of it that’s not abrasive when the water is calm like this, and tries to remember what he was thinking about before being distracted by the beauty of the world.

 

He was searching. Is searching.

 

What could he be looking for here, Taemin wonders.

 

Not something, someone.

 

He’s looking for someone.

 

Kibum.

 

That’s right, Taemin remembers abruptly, he was with Kibum. Kibum must have gone ahead while he lost himself and now he needs to find him.

 

But when he tries to move, his limbs are heavy and reluctant; as if his body is rebelling against the idea of leaving. It’s always like this. Taemin hates having to fight with himself to move. Kibum is getting further and further away, and might possibly get lost, while he trudges treacle-slow away from a view he can see every day.

 

The sun is bright in the sky as Taemin forces his limbs to move. Kibum can’t have gone far, he doesn’t like the sun very much. Though, the moment that thought crosses Taemin’s mind, he wonders where it came from; Kibum has never complained about the sun or being outdoors. Did he make an assumption based on Kibum’s fair skin?

 

There, in the distance, he sees Kibum.

 

But instead of relief, he just feels a dread he can’t understand.

 

Kibum is standing in the water, his face turned up towards the sun. He’s got his shoes in one hand and his jeans rolled up, the way Taemin can never remember to. He looks calm, peaceful.

 

Taemin wants to call out to him, but his lungs, his mouth, his throat, none of them work.

 

The longer Kibum stands in the sun, the more crystalline he appears; as if he’s made of the same cosmic stuff as the sun and the sea. Perhaps that’s why Taemin loves him so much.

 

It takes all of his strength to make his voice audible, to say just one word. “Kibum!”

 

At the sound of his name, Kibum turns away from the sun and looks at him. His eyes are warm and kind and so full of sorrow that Taemin can drown in them. His heart is sinking, breaking. He knows then that this is the end, that Kibum is saying goodbye to him, that no matter what he says he’ll lose him too.

 

The ice cold water licks over his feet.

 

*

 

Taemin wakes with a jolt.

 

The shock dissipates quickly, leaving only weariness. He’s dreamt this dream before.

 

*

 

_“Taemin-kun! Taemin!”_

 

_Taemin opens his bleary eyes, annoyed. Toriko is standing over him, his hand still tapping Taemin’s shoulder even though he’s already awake. The house better be on fire, Taemin thinks uncharitably; he got back from the dance studio at 4am and slithered his exhausted body straight into bed and nothing less than a fire is getting him out._

 

_“What?”_

 

_“You were dreaming.”_

 

_“What?”_

 

_“Are you okay, Taemin-kun?”_

 

_This is far too confusing far too early in the morning. Why wouldn’t he be okay? Why has Toriko woken him up? “What are you talking about?”_

 

_“It’s just… you were crying.”_

 

_There’s a denial on Taemin’s tongue – he dreamt of his favourite things, why would he be crying – but he rubs his eyes and it’s true, they’re wet. He must have been loud too, if Toriko could hear him from his room. “Sorry.”_

 

*

 

His fingers find wetness under his eyes.

 

Taemin sighs and wipes the remnants of his tears away. He hopes he didn’t wake Kibum; it’s a little ridiculous to be dreaming of him like this when he’s right there in the same bed. He reaches out in the dark, feeling for Kibum, but his fingers only reach sheets that have lost their residue of human warmth.

 

With a sigh, Taemin gives up on the idea of sleep. His body is still tired and pleasantly achy from last night, though he doesn’t feel particularly well-rested; the thick curtains don’t let any light in, but he suspects it’ll be dark even if they were open. This is only his second time in Kibum’s room, in Kibum’s apartment, but he’s already able to tell – from the light, from the ambient sounds – that it’s early morning. But more importantly, where is Kibum?

 

He wraps the blanket around himself as he gets out of bed. Kibum probably wouldn’t approve of the way the edges trail on the floor and pick up dog fur, but he shouldn’t have left Taemin alone and cold like this. As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he notices that the bedroom is just slightly ajar. He pushes it open just a little more and peeps out.

 

There he is.

 

Kibum is standing by the largest window of his living room, wrapped in a robe and sipping a cup of coffee. His hair is slightly tousled and he’s not wearing any make-up; his back is ever so slightly curved and his shoulder blades are two visible ridges through the robe.

 

He’s beautiful.

 

Taemin stays hidden in the shadows of the bedroom.

 

Kibum looks just like he did in Taemin’s dream; calm and peaceful. This time, the sight doesn’t bring dread to Taemin’s heart, only fondness. He doesn’t know much about Kibum, about his past relationships or the struggles he faces, but he sees their effects. There is always a distance to Kibum, a wall that he’s never lowered as far as Taemin has seen.

 

He’s smart and witty and sharp in a way Taemin isn’t; he’s clever with his hands and stronger than he seems. He’s good at navigating and great at cooking and he can make people like him as easily as a cat lands on all fours. He’s a talented writer, he has a way with words even though he claims that words don’t come as easily to him as photography does. He’s kind, even though he pretends he isn’t, and Taemin has never felt as drawn to a person as much as he does to Kibum.

 

He just wishes that Kibum could see himself through his eyes; maybe then he wouldn’t feel the need to keep parts of himself hidden away. Maybe then he’d let Taemin see him just being himself the way he is now.

 

Kibum’s puppy, Comme des, comes toddling to Kibum’s side dragging a toy that’s bigger than him.

 

“Is that for Appa?” Kibum asks, nudging the toy with his foot. “Did you bring a present for Appa? Where is your brother?”

 

Taemin opens the door a little wider, looking for the black pup named Garcons, and the it creaks loudly.

 

“Oh, Taemin-ah?” Kibum’s voice for him is the same one he uses for the pups, Taemin realises. “Did we wake you up?”

 

Taemin shakes his head, having to come out of hiding now that he’s been discovered. “Can I have coffee too?”

 

“Sure, have a seat and I’ll bring it over.”

 

Kibum disappears into the kitchen and Taemin flops onto Kibum’s couch. His eyes are still tired and he wants to close them for a moment, but Comme des brings his toy to him now. He looks exactly like Eve did as a puppy and for a moment Taemin remembers being eleven years old, playing with his new puppy on Christmas morning as the scent of his mother’s coffee filled the air.

 

“Come here,” Taemin says, patting his lap. Comme des doesn’t seem to understand; he pushes the toy on Taemin’s foot and barks at him.

 

“Yah, don’t make noise,” Kibum says sharply. He walks towards the couch, a cup of coffee in each hand, with Garcons following him and nipping at trailing belt of his robe.

 

“He’s a baby,” Taemin says in Comme des’ defence.

 

“You have to train them when they’re young,” Kibum replies, handing Taemin his coffee and sitting down beside him. More than the coffee, Taemin is glad for Kibum’s presence; he takes the opportunity immediately, laying his head on Kibum’s shoulder. Kibum huffs, but Taemin speaks Kibum well enough now to know that this is a pleased huff. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Mmmm,” Taemin replies, non-committal.

 

“So… you said you had nothing planned for the day, right?”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“I don’t have anything planned either, so I thought we could take a drive down to Sokcho.”

 

That’s unexpected. “Sokcho?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll be too cold to get in the water, but if we bundle up we still walk on the beach. And it’s not the same as being in Okinawa, but you can still see the sea, I guess?”

 

Oh.

 

Taemin’s heart aches, surging with nameless feelings for Kibum. It is true, he had spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family, and yesterday with Kibum, and he’s starting to feel that edge that comes with being away from the sea, but it was something he was willing to endure to spend another day with Kibum; though, he’s come to realise, being with Kibum dulls the knife-edge of that need to something far more bearable.

 

Perhaps someday he’ll tell Kibum about his hyung, the hyung whose memories fill every corner of Seoul that Taemin knows and whose shadow falls over Taemin whenever he goes, sees, does something familiar that he’ll never do with him again. He can’t breathe in Seoul because he can’t escape these memories – and it feels wrong to even want to escape them – but it’s easier to breathe with Kibum because his Seoul is different from Taemin’s. There are no memories in the places Kibum takes him other than the ones they make together.

 

One day, when he finds the words, he’ll tell Kibum.

 

And maybe by then, Kibum will find the words to tell him the things he keeps hidden too.

 

“Okay,” Taemin says. He would have been happy just to stay indoors all day with Kibum, eating and fucking and sleeping, but he’s willing to follow Kibum wherever he wants to go.

 

“There’s this restaurant that’s just outside of Sokcho, it does traditional Korean food like herbal soup and stewed crab, and it’s bleeding expensive, but it’s my treat since I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

 

Kibum had turned red when Taemin had given him a YSL sweater for Christmas. Taemin still hasn’t told him that it’s a fan gift passed to him by one of the DreamCT members; but that’s okay, he’ll let Kibum buy them lunch and insist on paying for dinner later on and they’ll be square.

 

“Okay,” he agrees, nuzzling into Kibum’s shoulder. “But let’s stay like this for a while.”

 

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Kibum warns, but when Taemin closes his eyes he feels Kibum’s lips press a kiss on top of his head.

 

XXXXX

 

_Merry Christmas!_

 

_here's a little gift from me for the season! I hope you like it :)_

_and if you want to give me a wee gift in return, well, the comments are always open ;p_

 

_love,_

 

_sherleigh_


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